


Quoth the Raven

by AXEe



Series: The Raven [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Magic, Magic-Users, Police Procedural, Soulmates, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9403694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AXEe/pseuds/AXEe
Summary: Openly gay San Francisco police detective Raven Wood is a force to be reckoned with.   She’s tough-as-nails, volatile, and has alienated at least half a dozen of her former colleagues over the course of only three years.  Enter Calvin Eagle, Raven’s new partner; a cop from the San Francisco Police Department’s Internal Affairs division.  Calvin’s been assigned to watch Raven and report on her actions as a police officer.  But there’s more to Raven Wood than what’s on paper.  Much more…





	1. Birds of a Feather

******

**_"...with many a flit and flutter in stepped a stately raven..."_  
\--Edger Allen Poe: "The Raven"**

******

**San Francisco, California, 5:45 AM**  
Financial District  
Thursday, November 6th 2008 

I wiped a droplet of rain off my forehead with the back of my hand as I pulled at the waistband of my pants. I was trying to get the tight leather pants I was wearing back to their original position up _past_ my hips. I was also trying to readjust the bag slung over my shoulder at the same time. I glanced up as a sleek, black sports car that probably had a down payment on it worth more than my annual salary— _before_ taxes—drove up. The third time it had driven down this particular street, I noted.

“ ** _This. Is. Pa-the-tic_** ” I stated matter-of-factly

“ _The guy’s_ supposed _to think you’re a hooker, Raven,_ ” My back-up snickered in my ear.

“Not _this_ guy,” I pointed out.

“ _Well, I_ did _tell you that those pants would come back and haunt you,_ ” was back-up’s smug reply.

“Bite me, Eddie,” I answered as the car slowly squeaked to a stop on the wet asphalt in front of me.

“ _Well_ ”, I thought, “ _as least I could enjoy myself while I’m here._ ”

Grinning to myself, I straightened my black leather top and sauntered over to the car. “Sauntering” as well as someone who usually doesn’t wear heels of any kind can saunter, anyway. So I ended up kind of . . . tottering … over to the curb.

Great! Just what the world needs -- a lopsided hooker.

The tinted window of the car slowly slid down with a quiet whir. As I weaved and wobbled slightly, trying to keep my balance in the damn heels the guys in Vice _insisted_ I wear in order to ‘complete the illusion’, I made a mental note to give them the boots back where the sun don’t shine. I continued to hobble slightly before turning my attention to Mr. Sports Car. The driver of the car was a middle-aged, forty-something man with black hair that was starting to turn grey at the temples. In other words, he was your typical business type who could probably afford three call girls if he wanted. He leered at me.

“Need a ride, miss?” he asked in what he undoubtedly thought was his sexiest voice. It wasn’t. I grinned at him.

“Maybe,” I purred back, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. I leaned forward, giving him a view of what I suppose you could my cleavage — if I had one that is — as I pretended to examine the interior of the car.

“Nice car. What do you do?” I asked, using my best sultry voice. Unlike this bozo I was talking to, the fact that I have a naturally deep, husky, and throaty voice probably helped.

“Stocks and bonds,” he answered. He rested an arm on the door and leaned forward, leering once more. “You?” he asked, only an inch from my face.

I did my best not to gag on the whiskey fumes on his breath. Scratch “bozo.” How about “boozer?” I grinned at him again and slowly held my badge in front of his face.

“Police,” I whispered in the voice that I usually reserve for the bedroom.

He jerked back in his seat, his eyes wide. He started to hastily stammer out an explanation. I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll let you off this time,” I told him. “Now get out of here, or I _will_ arrest you,” I continued, jerking my thumb behind me.

He promptly gunned the engine and sped off, taking the turn at the corner a little too sharply.

I laughed myself sick as soon as he was out of sight

“ _Nice to see that you’re enjoying yourself, Raven,_ ” Eddie snickered in my ear, “ _but you might want to focus on our case_ "

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered as I caught my breath, “Relax. He’s not my type. I don’t date anyone with a Y-chromosome, remember?” I reminded him.

Half the Department probably knows I’m gay since I don’t exactly hide it, but I don’t go around broadcasting it either. Leaning against the lamppost again I glanced down at myself, wondering what I’d done in a past life to deserve this.

I’m not exactly streetwalker material. I’m short (petite actually -- five feet tall, zero inches) and most of my height comes from my long, toned dancer’s legs. I’ve been told that they give me a kind of gliding quality when I walk. I have wide hips and a curvy, Kate Winslet/Marylyn Monroe-ish hourglass figure with an almost flat chest. Nope, definitely not streetwalker material, I decided.

I brushed a strand of my thick, jet-black—almost blue—Shirley Temple, spring-like curls out of my face, although Shirley Temple doesn’t quite cut it, I’ve always been partial to ‘finger-in-a-light-socket’ myself; my hair’s a wild, unruly, curly, springy, and bouncy mess which no amount of hairspray or styling can tame for very long. Believe me, kids, people have tried. It usually sticks out in a wild, shaggy-looking mass whenever I take it out of my ponytail. My skin, however, in utter contrast to my hair is very pale, with a very fair, even, snow white—some people have even said porcelain white—complexion with a very light smattering of freckles here and there, mostly around my collar bones and upper chest.

Leaning back to readjust my ponytail, I caught my reflection in a storefront window behind me. I have a long face with high cheekbones, a prominent, almost-hawkish nose, and a long, narrow jaw line. My lips have that rich, yet gentle, fullness that those old actresses from the ‘40s used to have—the kind of lips that only nature, not collagen or Botox treatments, can grant—which forms a natural pout that always gives me a slight, kind of mischievous, almost secretive, sultry and seductive smirk, like I’m hiding something, or that I know something I probably shouldn’t. I kind of like that aspect, actually, and it would probably look even better if I wore lipstick regularly, if at all. But it’s not my lips that catch most people’s attention first, it’s my eyes. I have large, slightly upturned, grey eyes. Not pale blue, not violet, but a light, stormy grey. In fact my eye color has usually been compared to storm clouds.

Straightening up, I stretched my arms out in front of me, like my legs, my biceps are evenly toned; the product of a regular yoga routine. I admired the set of tribal tattoos running down the length of both of my arms, from my shoulders to my wrists. Elegant, flowing, slightly abstract, dark green curves, swirls, and loops which were designed to look like vines of ivy, forming a simple but abstract design on my fair skin. I idly lifted my right arm and scratched an itch on my armpit. Maybe I should’ve shaved? I wondered absently. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you heard right, I don’t shave my underarms; I don’t shave my legs either. I’m a purist, sue me.

Sighing, I looked down at the Outfit From Hell, again wondering what I’d done in a past life to deserve _this_ ; a tight, black, strapless, corset-like top, almost skintight leather pants, also black, and a pair of black, knee-high, Victorian-style, lace-up boots, complete with the pointed toe and half-inch heel, dangling from my ears were two oversized hoop earrings which matched the other cheap, gaudy jewelry I was wearing. The entire mess was a far cry from my usual blue jeans and t-shirts affair “fuck it,” I muttered, I turned towards the bar nearby “I’m heading for the bar, Eddie. My shift’s over anyway, tell Morris it’s her turn” I proclaimed

“ _Oh, yeah she’ll_ love _that_ ” Eddie chuckled, I ‘hmm’ed in answer and quickly plucked the ear bud out of my ear, I dropped it down my cleavage (no pockets in these damn pants), straightened my shoulder bag again, and then stalked over to the bar, determined to get myself stinking drunk in order to wipe out the memory of this night. The bar was an old, sturdy two-story building made almost entirely out of bricks, with a hanging wooden plaque above the bar’s door that read

The  
Blood & Brew Tavern

Don’t look at me like that, maybe the owner had a thing about vampires and witches, I don’t know, now do I? Pushing the thick oak door open I stepped through the threshold and paused in the plain, narrow brick-lined foyer to take the opportunity to at least try to dry myself off. It doesn’t rain much in San Francisco, but when it does, it usually pours. It was kind of hard to dry myself since I didn’t have a towel or anything even remotely resembling a towel or cloth.

Seriously, kids, I’d take some old newspaper at this point

After I was done wiping the water off with only my hands (wet leather, how lovely), I stepped into the actual bar, narrowly missing the single step just inside the door. I instantly threw a hand out and grabbed the doorframe for support, stopping myself from faceplanting on the hardwood floor. Did I mention that I _really, really, **really**_ , hate wearing heels? I didn’t? Well I do. As much as I liked the look of the vintage, turn-of-the century style of the boots, the heels were doing things to my lower back that were probably outlawed by the Geneva Convention. I missed my sneakers.

The bar was my kind of place, though. The entire interior was made to look like an old Irish pub, complete with dark wood paneling; beautiful wood carvings adorned the walls, along with several black and white photographs of who appeared to be several historical figures from Ireland’s turbulent history. This place was authentic too, not one of those places where they thought that if they put enough shamrocks and pipes on the walls people would actually think that they were in a real Irish pub, no, this place was the real deal. I’ve been in real Irish pubs, _in Ireland_. Trust me I know what I’m talking about.

A small stage stood at the far end of the wide, alley-like room, the stage held a small, slightly battered-looking baby-grand piano and was just wide enough to accommodate the piano and probably a small band if desired or required. Currently a wannabe musician was trying his not-so-best to play the bagpipes, the fact that he was holding them the wrong way might have accounted for at least part of his problem. Not that the patrons were paying any attention to him, mind you, most of them were more focused on their respective drinks than his musical massacre.

“Hey,” a low voice grunted besides me, I turned and suddenly came face-to-belly button with a heavyset man who was obviously the bar’s bouncer, either that or he should definitely be applying for the job. I slowly glanced up, and up, and up. Jeez, the guy had enough muscles on him that he looked like a former draft pick for the ’49er’s who’d been kicked off the team for ‘unsportsmanlike behavior’. His nametag read ‘Cliff’. Fitting, I thought; wonder if his last name was ‘Face’ by any chance “you Maxie’s replacement, miss?” he asked in a surprisingly pleasant and friendly tone, I blinked at him, confused

“Sorry?” I asked, shaking my head, my still damp curls rustled quietly in my ears as I did

“Maxie, the old barmaid,” he clarified “after she left, she said she’d find someone to replace her” he explained, he glanced me up and down, clearly doubting that I was the new barmaid, he just probably had instructions to ask any person who wasn’t a regular that question, I decided

“Oh, no, sorry, I’m just a customer” I explained, he nodded, looking slightly relieved, and moved back to a lone bar stool sitting by the door. I nodded to myself and moved over to a row of booths lined up against the right wall, some were under windows, most weren’t, and most were also occupied. I finally found an unoccupied booth in a dark corner; it was towards the stage and was underneath a large walnut carving of a thistle plant. I leaned back against the slightly worn leather covering and scooted further down in my seat than someone my height should be forced to, but hey, this outfit was a disaster waiting to happen, Stocks and Bonds Guy being a prime example. The last thing I wanted was to be propositioned again.

A woman wearing a forest green vest suddenly all but skipped over to my table. She beamed at me, all dimples and freckles

“Hi, I’m Quinn, and I’ll be your server for today” she exclaimed, frighteningly perky for this hour. I hate morning people. Quinn, my server for today, cheerfully placed three drinks down in front of me, a blood Mary, some fizzy, carbonated thing I didn’t really recognize (I think it was a Shirley Temple, or at least an attempt at one anyway), and a shot of whiskey. I sighed

“Thanks, hon. Who are they from?” I asked, my voice sound bored, hell, I was bored, standing outside in the rain dressed as a streetwalker just so the Department can catch a flasher is not my idea of fun. Quinn’s cheerful expression suddenly looked slightly fearful at my question, and she gently inclined her head towards a table nearby, the twelve or so ‘gentlemen’ (if you can them that) sitting at the table—a bunch of drunk, rich, trust fund baby, college frat boys by the looks of them—were all openly leering at me, lust written all over their faces. An old tradition, by accepting the drinks, I maybe/possibly accepted the unspoken proposition of sex behind it.

Pigs

I smiled up at Quinn “gin and tonic on the rocks with a twist of lime, please” I requested, she nodded and turned to go, then paused

“Uh, just between you and me…” she began quietly; clearly worried for my safety, I smiled at her again and quietly held up my badge

“Relax, hon, I’m covered” I told her, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief and then emphatically tapped her pen against her notepad

“One gin and tonic coming up!” she exclaimed, all dimples and freckles again, I absently nodded at her in acknowledgment as she left and then gently pushed the three drinks to the side and focused my attention at the bar. Only two people were there at the moment, two women, a blonde and brunette, much more my type. Like I said I don’t go for anyone with a Y chromosome.

Both of the women looked like they were in the midst of an argument. The brunette was clearly dressed up for a night on the town, wearing a black miniskirt, a tight, sleeveless t-shirt, also black, and a pair of knee-high boots, again black. Her blonde companion was similarly dressed and looked very uncomfortable as a result. I quickly got the impression that the brunette had most likely dragged her friend out for the night, and the friend clearly resented it. The blonde rolled her eyes at whatever her friend had just said and glanced in my general direction for a second.

At that moment our eyes met, and something passed between us, like an electrical current, a connection of sorts, somehow I just _knew_ that this woman and I would become very close very soon. Then she blinked and the spell broke. She quickly blushed, and turned back to her friend and resumed the argument.

I briefly glanced up as Quinn returned with my gin and tonic, I absently slipped her a tip and took a swallow of my drink as she left, winching at the taste—too much tonic not enough gin—while keeping my gaze on the two women at the bar, my curiosity getting the better of me.

As I watched, the argument between the two of them got more and more heated. Finally throwing her hands up in a clear gesture of exasperation, the blonde stood up and stalked away from the bar, clearly upset. As she quickly looked around for somewhere else to sit I took a moment to examine her. She was about five-five in height, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds, and had a nice curvy figure, a little thinner than mine. She looked like she could probably be a model or an actress if she wanted to, but I got the impression that she didn’t really see herself that way, and that she probably saw herself more as ‘average’ if anything. She had the kind of look of someone who was generally a kind and compassionate type, but was also a fighter; some pretty hard times had fallen on her in the past and she’d managed to claw her way out of them more-or-less intact.

She glanced at my booth—the only relatively unoccupied seat in the entire place—and made a reluctant beeline towards it; stopping directly in front of my table. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and then apparently either lost her nerve or simply decided against it and began to move away

“Hey, puss in boots, where’re you goin’?” I asked with a saucy grin, OK, I’ll admit it, I’m a flirt, but hey, as long as nobody gets hurt, it’s harmless. The blonde paused and slowly turned back, clearly wondering why someone dressed like I was at the moment would even notice her, let alone speak to her. I wondered if she’d have that same reaction if she saw my usual attire. Probably not, I decided. She blinked at me before answering.

“Pardon?” she asked, I spread my arms and gestured to the rest of the booth surrounding my small frame

“Seat’s free, Kitten” I told her, she blinked again and looked a little spooked

“Uh…no thanks” she answered quickly. Maybe it was the underarm hair?

“Sooo…,” I said slowly, trying to follow her logic “you’re telling me that you’d rather be sitting with Tarzan and the rest of _Planet of the Apes_ over _there_ ,” I jerked my thumb towards the table of panting gorillas nearby “…than over _here_ with… _me_?” I gestured to myself. She glanced at the gorillas and then at me, and then apparently decided that the leather-wearing lesbian (although she didn’t know that I was a lesbian yet) was the lesser of two evils and reluctantly sat down next to me, it was a small booth so it was a bit of a tight fit, and I was forced to wriggle a bit to try and give her as much space as possible. Quinn suddenly reappeared as if by magic, the girl must be able to smell big tippers. Sure enough, instead of focusing on me she turned to the blonde next to me, clearly waiting for her to place an order. The blonde just stared at her; I politely hid my smirk behind my hand as it finally clicked

“Oh. Uh, an apple martini, please” she requested, Quinn nodded and moved off, leaving me and my companion alone

“So, what’s your name, Kitten?” I asked, swirling my glass to further mix the gin and tonic together

“Calvin,” she answered “ _not_ ‘kitten’” she told me, gritting her teeth on the second word

“I like ‘kitten’ better,” I shot back automatically, ‘Calvin’ rolled her eyes as I took an ice cube out of my glass and sucked on it, intentionally making the gesture appear very suggestive “I’m Raven,” I introduced myself “Raven Wood” I continued as I swallowed the partially melted ice cube and slowly sucked the gin off my fingertips.

I have absolutely no shame sometimes. And I’m damn proud of it.

“What kind of name is ‘Raven Wood’?” Calvin asked, frowning as if she was trying to place my name to someone she knew of

“Mine, Kitten” I purred, she coughed uncomfortably

“You know, I’m cop,” she said “I could arrest you right now for solicitation” Calvin threatened, a little bit of fire flashing in her brown eyes. Oh, this could get interesting, I grinned at her

“Prove it, then” I dared her, she pulled out her ID

“Lieutenant Calvin Eagle, San Francisco Police” she identified herself, holding up an honest-to-god San Francisco Police Department Inspector ID badge

“Well, that’s ironic,” I remarked, I pulled out my own ID “Sergeant Raven Wood, San Francisco Police” she blinked, clearly surprised, and then glanced at the ID and then at me, clearly trying to make sure that the photo on the ID and the aforementioned flirtatious, leather-wearing lesbian sitting next to her were the same person

“What happened to your hair?” she asked finally, I sighed as I folded the ID holder back up

“Some idiot thought it’d be _hilarious_ if he took a pair of scissors and lopped off my ponytail after I’d made Inspector” I explained, I lightly tugged on my loose, messy ponytail for emphasis, Calvin ‘hmm’ed’ in response

“That must’ve been embarrassing” she remarked

“Not really. He won’t do it again” I answered, she frowned and her gaze narrowed

“Why not?” she asked suspiciously, in that same tone your teacher probably used on you when you told him exactly why you couldn’t turn in your assignment

“He spent the night in the ER with a drink umbrella shoved up his nose” I explained casually, Calvin suddenly sighed, a long-suffering sigh, and then very slowly and deliberately, slid her arms along the tabletop and dropped her forehead down on the table with a loud ‘thud’

“You’re _the_ Raven Wood, aren’t you?” she asked in a suddenly bone-weary tired voice that was muffled by the table, as if she was _really_ hoping I wasn’t _that_ Raven Wood “the one who alienated at least twenty different partners assigned to work with her over the past three years?” she continued

“Yep, that’s me,” I answered. I propped my elbow on the table and rested my chin on my fist as I studied at her for a few seconds, studying her “I’m your new partner, aren’t I?”

“Mmm” was her muffled response, Quinn suddenly reappeared bearing Calvin’s apple martini. I nodded at her as she set it down—briefly hesitating at the sight of Calvin laying face-first on the table—and then I slipped her another rather generous tip before she left. It wasn’t my money anyway; the Department could foot the bill.

“What division are you in?” I asked Calvin as Quinn left, Calvin sighed and turned her head so that she was facing me, even though her head was still resting on the tabletop

“Management Control” she answered, I nodded quietly, Management Control (also known as IAB or the Internal Affairs Bureau in other Departments) is the part of the SFPD that investigates anything that goes against Department policy or the law in general (like taking a bribe or planting evidence for example) or threatens our relations with the public (like an officer-involved shooting), which meant that she could write me up a whole host of things, like insubordination. Not that I gave a flying fuck, mind you

“Since when did the Department put two officers from two entirely different divisions together?” I asked, confused

“Since you,” Calvin answered “you’re considered to be such a menace that I’ve been assigned to personally wa-tch you” she explained matter-of-factly, drawing out the word ‘watch’, I nodded in understanding

“Ahhh,” I said “in other words, you watch me, make a report of my actions over a period of time, and then send it off to IAB telling them whether or not if I deserve my badge” I translated

“Y-ep” she answered, drawing out the word, I whistled as I took a sip of my drink

“Damn!” I exclaimed, chuckling “who the hell did you piss off?” I asked

“God, apparently” she answered dryly, I laughed at that

“Relax, Kitten, I don’t bite,” I told her “much” I added, she raised an eyebrow as she straightened up, her face briefly sticking to the tabletop. Ew.

“Do you _always_ flirt with every person that sits down next to you?” she asked in a slightly annoyed tone as she absently rubbed her no-doubt sore cheek

“Only the women,” I answered honestly “and not unless they’re as good-looking as you, Kitten” I added with a deliberate purr in my voice, I smiled as a visible shiver ran down Calvin Eagle’s spine. I don’t care what team you play for, there are just some things that are just arousing as hell

“I’m not gay” she said a slightly aggravated tone, as if she had encountered people before who had assumed that she was gay, which they might have, no doubt equating ‘strong, independent, female cop’ with ‘butch lesbian’, ah, the wonders of stereotyping, however will we discriminate without thee?. Not that I really cared if she was or wasn’t gay, mind you; it certainly wasn’t my place to pass judgment, after all.

“I am,” I replied matter-of-factly as I slid her drink over to her “what does it matter?” I wondered with a dismissive shrug “a little flirting never hurt anyone, gay or straight,” I pointed out, she looked thoughtful as she idly ran her fingers around the rim of the martini glass, and for a long moment there was a comfortable silence between us, it was…peaceful, content. I glanced at her drink “apple martini, can you really taste the apples?” I wondered, breaking the silence

“I can” she answered with the stubbornness of a two-year old; she plucked the apple slice out and then took a deep gulp of the drink, as she set it down she slowly ran her finger around the rim of the glass again, making it sing a little, obviously trying her own hand at flirting. I chuckled

“Won’t work on me, Kitten” I told her, she stopped and smiled, she had a nice smile, dimples even

“Can’t blame a straight girl for trying” she shot back, clearly starting to enjoy herself despite the no doubt odd situation, I chuckled

__“No, you certainly can not,” I grinned back, I held up my gin and tonic in a toast, she mimicked me with her apple martini and we gently clinked our respective glasses together “there, now see, I’m not so bad” I told her. Calvin quickly swallowed the rest of her martini._ _

__“No, I suppose not,” she remarked once she’d finished inhaling the martini, she pointed to the bloody Mary still sitting on the tabletop “are you going to drink that?” she asked, I smirked_ _

__“I seriously hope you’re off-duty” I remarked, she rolled her eyes_ _

__“Would I be in a bar dressed like this if I wasn’t?” she asked, gesturing to herself, I shrugged_ _

__“How the hell should I know?” I wondered “for all I know you’re an alcoholic” I reasoned_ _

__“Well, I’m not” she said, she glanced impatiently at the drink “well…?” she demanded, I shrugged and slid it over to her_ _

__“All yours, Kitten” I told her, she frowned as I picked up the discarded apple slice from her apple martini_ _

__“You’re going to keep calling me that, aren’t you?” she asked as I popped the apple slice into my mouth, I grinned at her as I crunched on it_ _

__“What do you think, kitty-cat?” I asked around the bits of vodka-soaked apple_ _

__“I think I preferred ‘kitten’” she muttered, stirring the bloody Mary with the celery stalk, I chuckled as I swallowed the apple slice. I glanced up at a clatter from nearby. One of Tarzan’s apes had broken lose from the troop and was making a beeline for our table._ _

__“Heads up, Fred Flintstone at ten o’clock” I muttered, Calvin looked up and quickly spotted the guy, it wasn’t that hard to miss him, mind you, he was bouncing off enough objects to put a pinball machine to shame. Calvin cringed_ _

__“Oh, god!” she hissed at me “I don’t need this, not now”_ _

__“Relax” I told her, patting her hand comfortingly as our would-be Romeo stopped in front of the table. He glanced between the two of us before he finally fixed his alcohol-laden gaze on me, almost as if he couldn’t remember which one of us he was lusting after. Maybe he had to relay the information through his second brain first._ _

__“Hey, I know you,” he slurred, he reached out across the small table and gave my shoulder a shove, I bristled and resisted the urge to rip his arm off his body and beat him with it “hey, I know you” he repeated_ _

__“No, I don’t think you do, no, I don’t think you do,” I answered “what’s up with you? Stuck on repeat?” I asked as I took a sip of my drink, to my left I heard Calvin snicker, Romeo glowered at her before returning his gaze to me. His face—which might have been considered attractive if he wasn’t three sheets to the wind and drooling slightly (ew)—suddenly spread into a crooked grin_ _

__“Yeah,” he slurred “you’re that girl that’s been hookin’ down by the campus aren’t you?” he asked_ _

__“No-pe” I answered, drawing the word out_ _

__“Yeah,” he repeated again “you’re her” he said with the conviction of the truly drunk, he reached out again, but I swatted his hand away_ _

__“Back off, twerp, unless you want to lose a hand,” I threatened; he just chuckled and reached for me again. This time I grabbed his wrist and twisted, his eyes bulged and he gasped in pain as his knees suddenly buckled and he slumped sideways against the table “I move my thumb a quarter of inch and you’ll need a cast,” I told him “you follow?” I asked, he grunted in response “good. Now,” I began in a husky tone “unless you want to lose this hand or something _else_ that’s _very important_ ,” I tightened my grip and glanced at his crotch, driving my point home. He cringed “you will _. Are we clear?” I asked, he nodded franticly, wincing and gasping in pain “good boy,” I told him as I let go of his hand. He slowly slid off the edge of the table and onto the floor like something out of _Looney Tunes_ before he managed to weakly stand up, wincing and gripping his hand, I slid the shot of whiskey and the Shirley Temple towards him “and, here, take these with you” I added.__ _

___He nervously glanced at me before he reluctantly took the Shirley Temple and the whiskey shot and staggered off back to his table, where his buddies jeered and teased him. No one else in the bar seemed to take much interest, I noticed, Cliff the bouncer just silently stared on, catching my eye; he grinned and gave me a thumbs-up, I returned the gesture._ _ _

___“Interesting” Calvin remarked, in that tone you use when you’re trying to be nice to the parents of the kid who just beat up yours for his lunch money._ _ _

___“I try” I replied absently, as I sipped at my gin and tonic_ _ _

___“Uh-huh” she replied slowly, no doubt trying to work out my rather screwy sense of logic_ _ _

___“Hey!” I looked up as two other gorillas approached our table_ _ _

___“Oh boy, here we go” I muttered as they staggered over_ _ _

___“Hey,” Drunk One said “don’t I know you?”_ _ _

___“No” I answered, having a distinct feeling of Déjà vu_ _ _

___“Yeah,” Drunk One continued “you’re that girl that’s doing tricks down by UCSF”_ _ _

___“I think you have me confused with someone else,” I replied. See, I told you this outfit was an accident waiting to happen “besides I’m a cop” I continued, holding up my badge. They simply stared at it, dumbfounded._ _ _

___“So much for a higher education” Calvin muttered_ _ _

___“Tell me about it” I agreed, reminded of my own school years. Of course I got the benefits of home-schooling for the first ten years of my life and then graduated from Stanford with a masters, so I’m biased_ _ _

___“Nah,” Drunk Two said suddenly to his buddy “this is her,” with that, his hand suddenly shot out and firmly latched onto my forearm before he suddenly yanked me out of my seat. Within seconds I found myself wobbling on those goddamn heels with my nose pressed into his chest, ew. God, maybe it’s a good thing I’m gay, because men can be really disgusting and obnoxious at times. Seriously, people, tell me, what’s the attraction? Come on, tell me “hey, c’mon, baby, show us the goods” Drunk Two leered, behind me I heard Calvin bolt up out of her seat. I tore my arm free of Drunk Two’s grip and grinned up at him_ _ _

___“Sure” I whispered in my darkest voice. Remember how I said I have strong dancer’s legs? Well, they’re good for other things besides dancing. I lifted my leg and firmly planted my knee into Drunk Two’s crotch. Grinning, I watched as he suddenly doubled over in pain, letting out an interesting gurgling shriek as he did._ _ _

___“Hey!” Calvin suddenly yelled. Drunk Two’s buddy didn’t have any time to react as she suddenly delivered one hell of a sucker punch to the side of his face_ _ _

___“Nice!!” I exclaimed appreciatively, grinning madly in smug satisfaction as I watched the two drunken trust-find babies almost simultaneously drop to the floor, groaning in pain and clutching their respective injured body parts. It’s the little things in life that make you smile_ _ _

___The nearby gorillas suddenly fell silent._ _ _

___One suddenly spoke up_ _ _

___“Oh, you two are _so_ dead!” they burst up from the table, knocking it and the chairs over_ _ _

___“OK, time to go!” I declared, clapping my hands together as the hoard began to stagger towards us with surprising speed and agility. I turned and grabbed both the bloody Mary and my gin and tonic off the table and splashed them both into the lead gorilla’s eyes as soon as he was close enough; I watched in satisfaction as he suddenly doubled over, yowling in pain and frantically scrubbing at his eyes. Alcohol and Tabasco sauce in you eyes both burn like hell, bub I thought as I grabbed Calvin’s hand and quickly pulled her with me towards the door; our fingers naturally intertwining into a comfortable and familiar grip as I did so, she turned to face me and, as our eyes met again, time suddenly seemed to slow down for just a split-second as I all but yelled “run!” in her face, pulling hard on her hand, just as the lead gorilla suddenly let out an outraged roar of_ _ _

___“ ** _GET ‘EM!_** ” and an empty beer bottle suddenly whizzed past Calvin’s head and smashed into the far wall, just missing her ear by a few scant centimeters as she suddenly stumbled, clearly startled, after me as I practically dragged her behind me like a rag doll out the door. I’m small, but I’m fast._ _ _

___The two of us burst through the foyer and charged out onto the street as fast as we could while each wearing heels. The assembled hoard of indignant and outraged drunken frat boys right on our tails. As Calvin and I reached the middle of the street, I stopped and turned around to face the hoard, pushing Calvin behind me as I dug into my shoulder bag, one gorilla—the same one who tried to pick me up in the first place, I noticed—rushed towards me, arm raised above his head._ _ _

___He was holding an empty beer bottle._ _ _

___I was holding a loaded gun._ _ _

___Romeo stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide as he stared down the barrel of the small, but still deadly, Berretta 3032 Tomcat that was now resting comfortably in my small hand “now,” I snarled “you’ve got two choices, A), you can drop that bottle and walk away with your dignity more-or-less intact. Or, B), you can try to take a swing at an undercover cop and then end up in the ER with your face in pieces. Your choice, baby,” I tightened my finger on the trigger for emphasis “or maybe you’d prefer the morgue?” I asked. He gulped, then dropped the bottle and quickly backed up, his buddies quickly drunkenly staggering after him. I waited until they were about half a block away before I slowly lowered the gun, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. I glanced to my right “you all right there, Kitten?” I asked, I heard her take a shaky breath, and then let out a quiet, exhaled_ _ _

___“Yeah,” another breath, then “yeah, yeah I’m OK” Calvin continued more strongly. I nodded_ _ _

___“Atta girl,” I answered, I glanced around, realizing that we were still standing in the middle of the street and that a car could come by and squish us at any second “c’mon,” I said “let’s get out of the street” without really thinking about it, I put my hand on the small of her back and guided her back to curb. She didn’t seem to mind though._ _ _

___“You know,” Calvin remarked as we stepped onto the sidewalk and sat down on the curb, my pants squeaked as we did “you could get into some serious trouble carrying a gun while wearing that outfit”_ _ _

___“Already did” I shot back, grinning. She chuckled_ _ _

___“Yeah,” she agreed “yeah, I suppose you did,” she continued “what is that anyway? A Berretta?” she asked_ _ _

___“Yeah,” I unloaded the clip from the gun and handed them both to her “it’s a Berretta 3032 Tomcat, actually,” I explained “first produced by Berretta in 1996, semi-automatic blowback, with a single or double trigger action, aluminum frame, and either a carbon or stainless steel slide and barrel, only weighs fourteen ounces and fires .32 ACP cartages, with a seven round detachable box magazine”_ _ _

___“Huh,” she remarked, turning the Berretta over in her hands “cool, kinda reminds of those old purse pistols you see in old movies” she remarked_ _ _

___“Me too,” I agreed, taking the gun back and putting it back in my bag “y’know, you were kind of useless in there, Kitten” I noted unapologetically, gesturing back towards the bar, Calvin scoffed “what, you never been a bar fight before?” I asked_ _ _

___“No, not really,” she stated “I was actually in Traffic before I transferred to Management Control,” she explained “been in my share of high-speed pursuits, shootouts, and gunfights before,” she added, she frowned, looking a little surprised “but I can honestly say that, no, before now, I have never, ever, been in a bar fight before, not even in college” she explained in an amazed tone of voice, as if just suddenly realizing this._ _ _

___“Huh,” I muttered as I digested this info “first time for everything, I guess,” I remarked, I glanced around “you got a car or something?” I asked “I could walk you to it, if you want” I offered_ _ _

___“Oh. No thanks, I have to wait for my friend,” Calvin answered, as her brunette companion stepped out of the bar “there she is,” she remarked absently, she waved her friend over “Bridgette!” she called out, the brunette turned and quickly made her way towards us_ _ _

___“There you are,” the brunette, presumably Bridgette, exclaimed, clearly relieved “are you all right? Those guys didn’t hurt you did they?” she asked frantically, Calvin shook her head_ _ _

___“No, I’m fine,” she answered “thanks to her especially” she continued, nodding at me with a bit of genuine and honest appreciation and downright pride in her voice. Bridgette turned to me and quickly looked me up and down_ _ _

___“And just who the hell are you?” she demanded, clearly thinking I was some kind of threat, or at the very least, a bad influence. Considering the way I was dressed I didn’t really blame her, hell I probably wouldn’t trust me dressed the way I was_ _ _

___“I’m the girl that just saved your friend from getting grouped by a bunch of frat boys,” I replied vaguely “not that I was really needed” I muttered to myself with a smirk, thinking back to Calvin’s sucker-punch, she could definitely take care of herself_ _ _

___“Oh” Bridgette said, relaxing slightly. I glanced up as a non-descript van drove up and stopped in front of us, double-parking in front of two other cars I noticed absently. A man hopped out from the drivers side, and even I have to admit that he was kind of good-looking. He was about six feet tall, averagely built, with a kind of attractive, scruffy, rugged look about him, the kind of guy who probably spent a good amount of his adult life doing hard, physical work for a living, like an auto mechanic or a longshoreman. He was dressed in cheap, casual clothing, a pair of blue jeans, work boots, and a black navy pea coat over a blue sweater, but he made it look like the height of Paris fashion, carrying himself in a sophisticated, confident manner, walking with a slightly cocky swagger, confident but not arrogant. Calvin and her friend Bridgette both visibly ogled him._ _ _

___“Hey, there you are,” he said to me, walking over, he glanced at the bar, and the hoard of drunks quickly scurrying inside, giving Calvin and I a wide berth and nervous glances as they passed “I thought I recognized your handiwork” he continued, flashing a charming grin_ _ _

___“Hey!” I exclaimed in mock outrage “I do other things besides start fights” I huffed, completely unaffected by the grin. Don’t date men, remember_ _ _

___“Oh, yeah? Like what?” he goaded me, suddenly sounding like a ten-year old_ _ _

___“Well, for one thing I start fires” I retorted, he chuckled and glanced at Calvin_ _ _

___“Who’re your friends?” he asked_ _ _

___“Ah,” I said “this is Lt. Calvin Eagle, SFPD, and her friend Bridgette, Calvin, Bridgette, I’d like you to meet Insp. Eddie Haskell, SFPD” I introduced them, Calvin looked vaguely started but quickly recovered enough to her offer her hand_ _ _

___“Hi” she said confidently, if she had any attraction to him, she was hiding it quite well I noticed_ _ _

___“Hi,” Eddie replied good-naturedly, easily taking her hand in a comfortable grip, seemingly not noticing her friend Bridgette staring at him, Bridgette being slightly less subtle “nice to meet you” he continued, but Calvin frowned as he and Bridgette shook hands_ _ _

___“’Eddie Haskell’?” she asked, suddenly trying—unsuccessfully—to hide a smirk “as in—” she started_ _ _

___“Don’t,” Eddie interrupted her “seriously, I’ve heard every _Leave It to Beaver_ joke out there,” he continued, Calvin held up her hands in surrender as Eddie returned his attention to me “ready to go?” he asked, jerking his chin towards the van, I nodded, standing up and following him to the van._ _ _

___“Oh! Wait!” Calvin suddenly called out, she quickly jogged over the van just as I shut the door. I rolled down the window and leaned out_ _ _

___“Yes?” I asked_ _ _

___“You’ll need to know how to reach me,” she said “we’ll be working together starting tomorrow” she explained, handing me a slightly crumpled business card_ _ _

___“No worries, Kitten,” I told her with a grin as I took the card “I’ll find you” I said, and somehow those three words suddenly seemed to carry more weight and meaning than ever_ _ _


	2. Birds, Dogs, and Corpses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, there is some gore and mention of rape in this chapter, read at your own risk

******

**Western Addition, Alamo Square  
Watchfire Manor, 1329 Prescott Street**

Alamo Square is a famous part of San Francisco. Located in the Western Addition, it’s both a residential neighborhood and a park, the Alamo Square Park consists of four city blocks (well four _San Franciscan_ city blocks anyway. It’s a small city, space is limited here) on top of a hill that overlooks much of the City, the famous ‘painted ladies’ sit on Steiner Street overlooking the park, and on a clear day you can see the Transamerica Pyramid, and the tops of the Golden Gate Bridge and Bay Bridge

I muffled another yawn as we turned down Prescott Street, the street where I live. Prescott Street, like the rest of the Alamo Square neighborhood, is full of old Victorian houses, in this case it’s a one-way dead-end street lined with at least twelve houses on either side, that’s almost like a cul-de-sac in design, if not shape.

“So, what’s on the agenda for the ‘Great Raven Wood’ for the rest of night?” Eddie asked, emphasizing the nickname, as the van pulled to a stop in front of 1329 Prescott Street, my place.

“A very large gin and tonic and some sleep,” I answered as I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door “good god, it’s practically dawn already!” I complained, noticing the purplish-orange tone of color that the sky had taken

“You need to get out more, Ra’” Eddie told me as I hopped down from the van, I bristled a little at the nickname, but then again, you can’t really come up with any really good nicknames when you have a first name like ‘raven’. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, I like my name just fine.

“And do _what?_ ” I asked with a laugh “go out to a nightclub with you? Ha, I don’t bloody think so” I told him, slinging my bag over my shoulder as I shut the door

“You _need_ a love life!” Eddie called out through the drivers side window “ _something!_ ” he added as I started up the steps that led up the small rise that my house sat on

“I have a ‘like’ life,” I called back over my shoulder “it suits me just fine” I told him; Eddie just rolled his eyes and shook his head, muttering something impolite about lesbians as he drove off. Sighing and shaking my own head, I stretched out my tired back and continued the short distance to my house. I smiled as I caught sight of the small bronze plaque on the wrought iron gate; it simply had two words on it

The Watchfire

Written in neat, elegant flowing letters, the Watchfire Manor is the Wood family ancestral home; it’s been in my family for at least four generations, five counting me. It’s the house I was born and raised in, and after my parents divorced they transferred the deed to me, so I’m now the sole owner, which is good, considering that rent is a bitch to pay in San Francisco “what a day” I muttered, walking up the steps to front door.

The Watchfire is a sturdy, two-story Victorian manor, painted red with white trim, it’s an old house, at least close to one hundred years old, and it creaks and groans as you move around it, the kind of sturdy old building that’s learned to lean into the wind rather than fight it. Since I taken over the property, I’d added my own touches. I’d planted some rambling roses (red, white, and yellow) as well as some lavender, jasmine, and holly, and a few other plants in the front yard and around the porch (I like plants, OK?), and I try my best to keep the sturdy old oak tree on the left side of the property from completely taking over and ripping the roof off with its branches. Other than that, the outside is exactly the same as it was when I was born.

Unlocking the door I pushed it open, it moved about half an inch, then the hinges groaned, and the door stopped ground to a halt, groaning myself, I rammed my shoulder against it, the hinges creaked and the door gave way “I keep forgetting to fix that,” I muttered, walking inside “sound like a fuckin’ assault team every time I come home” I continued. I talk to myself a lot, especially when I’m thinking; people tell me that that’s a sign of insanity. I tell them to go jump off a cliff, thank you very much.

I swung my leg back behind me and gave the door a hard kick, the hinges groaned ominously again before the door shut with a quiet snick. I sighed again and simply stood there, leaning against the door, feeling all the tension and stress leave my body as I stared down at my boots, I was home, my refuge, my sanctuary, my safe place. The main hall of the Watchfire leads into a sitting room on the right side, and a dinning room on the left side, directly straight ahead from the front door is the entrance to the kitchen.

In the sitting room there is a Victorian loveseat in the center of the room facing away from the entranceway towards the fireplace on the far wall, on either side of the loveseat is a small square end table, behind the loveseat is a narrow table with two stained-glass, Tiffany-style lamps, it was on this table that I dropped my bag. In front of the loveseat is a low coffee table; on the left side of the coffee table is a Victorian wingback chair.

On the far right wall, next to the front door, is a bay window with a window seat. Next to the fireplace, on either side, are two bookcases, which are stuffed to bursting with books of every shape and size, in between the bookcase on the left of fireplace and the fireplace itself is a grandfather clock, in front of the clock, at an angle away from the fire, is a low, circular table with a record player, on the opposite side of the fireplace, between the fireplace and the bookcase is another table of the same design, above which is a framed, authentic, vintage poster for the Marylyn Monroe film How to Marry a Millionaire which I found at an estate sale for fifty bucks. In front of the poster, at an angle facing towards the fire, is another wingback chair.

On the other side of the sitting room, behind the first wingback chair is a folding screen depicting the Chinese story of the Monkey King, behind which is a cello. To the left and front of the left bookcase, and partly hidden by the screen, is a baby grand piano. To the immediate left of the entranceway is the stairs leading up to the right to a landing overlooking the entire room, under the landing are two doors, one leads to the basement and the other leads to the library, right next to the stairs, at the foot, is a circular table with an old rotary phone on it.

A quiet clicking sound caught my attention, I looked up as a large, black mound of fur quietly made its way towards me, a creature that looked like a cross between a Labrador Retriever and the Hound of the Baskervilles; big and stocky with lots of lean muscles, and very, very, very hairy, with long black fur “hi, Bob,” I said, reaching down to ruffle the dog’s ears “you and Nigel been keeping the fort down?” I asked, the Newfoundland’s long bushy tail gently waged in answer, I chuckled as an old and grey German Shepherd quietly shuffled over and gently nuzzled my hand “OK, good boys,” I said, patting Nigel on the head, I straightened up “c’mon, let me go get changed and then I’ll make us all some dinner” I told him.

I showered and changed out of the Outfit from Hell into a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt that had a picture of Winnie the Pooh holding a sprig of mistletoe over his head with the words ‘tis the season’ underneath. The shirt would have been oversized on anybody else, with the hem probably going mid-way down their thighs, but on me the hem went almost halfway down my thighs, almost reaching the tops of my knees, and don’t get me started about how the collar kept slipping off my shoulders.

But I digress.

I made Bob and Nigel their dinners and a simple salad for myself, put on a fire, and then put on a record and stretched out on the loveseat with a good bock and another gin and tonic. This is what I do after work; I get home, pour myself a drink, get a good book, get a roaring fire started, and put on a slow jazz record, that’s my evening routine, sometimes I’ll watch a movie or maybe some old Loony Tunes, but usually it’s a book, a gin and tonic, and Glenn Miller and His Orchestra.

Something cold and wet suddenly very gently nudged me in the side, lifting my book I glanced down at Bob who was resting his chin on my thigh staring up at me with those big, sad eyes that dogs do “what?” I asked, he grumbled “I don’t care if Nigel gets more food than you, he’s entitled to it, he’s older” I explained, I have this weird connection with Bob, I can actually understand what he’s ‘saying’ not in actual words per se, he can’t talk, he’s a dog, but I can understand what he would be saying if he could speak. All my friends tell me that watching Bob and I ‘talk’ is like watching a telephone conversation, you can only hear what one person is saying “stop drooling on me,” I told him, nudging him off me “go sit by the fire” I told him, swiping at the now-damp cloth of my t-shirt, dog drool, bleech

******

Later that night, as I climbed into bed, Bob jumping and settling down by my feet, I studied the card that Calvin had given me, idly running my thumb over her name

“What do you say, Bob?” I wondered “want to give this one a chance?”

Bob only grumbled

******

**Watchfire Manor  
Friday morning**

I slowly sat up in bed, pushing the covers away from me until they were only covering me from the hips down. Sighing, I laced my finger together over my tummy and simply laid there for a few minutes. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and from the looks of things there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, all in all promising to be a beautiful sunny day.

I hated every second of it

Let me be perfectly clear on this matter

I.

Am.

Not.

A.

Morning.

Person.

I hate those people who just spring out of bed in the morning all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed before the sun’s even fully up. They make me sick, if it was up to me, I’d sleep in till sometime after noon personally

“I’m gonna have to get up now, aren’t I?” I asked, at the foot of the queen-sized bed Bob grumbled slightly. Groaning, I forced myself to sit up “OK,” I said to no one in particular, not even Bob “let’s dance”.

I managed to drag my butt out of bed and into the shower, and after fiddling with the settings for a good five minutes (it’s an old house with old pipes) I got the water to the right temperature so I wasn’t burning my skin off or in danger of becoming a Popsicle. Afterwards I dried off and got dressed, and trust me when I say that I dressed a lot differently than last night.

Instead of my all-leather ensemble from last night, I opted for my usual, very normal, if a bit unprofessional, clothing style. The leather top was swapped out for a dark green t-shirt with the words ‘YOUR GIRLFRIEND WANTS ME’ in cheerful, bright red letters on the front below the LGBT Rainbow Flag. I’d scrapped the skintight leather pants in exchange for a pair of tattered and faded blue jeans with fraying cuffs and a couple of safety pins stuck through the pants legs for good measure, the jeans were just tight enough to be comfortable, but not so tight that I needed to use a hacksaw and some industrial-strength solvent to get them off. The high-heeled boots were also gone, replaced by a pair of socks and a much more comfortable pair of dirt-smudged and tattered pair of black-and-white Converse Chuck Taylor All-Star hi-tops with bright, day-glow, lime-green laces.

I’d also ditched the cheap gaudy jewelry in favor of my usual tastes; a small silver coin-sized pentacle, a five-pointed star within a circle, hung from my neck on a length of thick black cord, while a small silver earring in the shape of an Egyptian ankh hung from my right ear, a small silver ring with an intricate Celtic knot motif etched onto its surface sat on the second finger of my right hand, and a silver charm bracelet hung on my left wrist, the charms jingled and jangled slightly as I moved. 

I also changed my hair too, tying it back in its usual simple ponytail with a sterling silver barrette, and dyed a simple streak of iridescent electric blue down the right side “hello there, gorgeous,” I smiled at my reflection in the mirror over the dresser as I straightened my hair, I’m not all that vain about my appearance, but I do know that I’m attractive and I know that others—both men and women—find me attractive.

Over the entire outfit went my almost trademark leather jacket. It’s an old and battered thing that I found in a thrift store bargain bin back in high school, the leather’s in various stages of distress, some parts have become as hard and as tough shoe leather, and others were as soft and smooth as suede, and some parts even look like they’ve been burned. The jacket’s double-breasted, overlapping from the left and closes with five buttons, with a sixth, decorative button near the collar, and it has wide, roomy flap-top, hip-pockets and a whole bunch of other pockets of various sizes and arrangements on the inside, it’s practically made up of nothing but pockets. Because of my height, the jacket’s hemline goes down past my knees, ending about two-three inches above my ankles, and the tail has a long split in it, like a duster, and the sleeves frequently hang down over my wrists, often covering a good portion of my hands, but I like it.

After getting dressed, I grabbed Bob’s leash, whistled for him, and once he came bounding down the stairs all big feet and long legs, got him into my truck and headed off to meet Calvin

******

**San Francisco Hall of Justice, 850 Bryant St**

I gently pulled the Tumbler, my customized black Ford F-250 XLT Super Duty Crew Cab pickup truck to a stop in front of the Hall of Justice, slightly amazed that I was actually able to find a parking spot right in front of the building. This is San Francisco, kids, parking spaces and housing is premium here.

The Hall of Justice houses the main courthouses and county jail facilities for San Francisco County; it’s also the home of ‘Southern Station’; the headquarters of the entire San Francisco Police Department, as well as the San Francisco Sheriff’s Department, and a base for the California Highway Patrol. I killed the engine and just sat there for a few minutes.

“What do think, Bob? I like her as a person, but do I really need another partner?” I asked my passenger. The big dog sitting the backseat simply yawned in response “gee, thanks,” I muttered sarcastically, unbuckling my seatbelt. I stretched my arms above my head, wincing at the loud pop that came from my back. Ouch “I think I need to get a better mattress, god,” I muttered, stifling a yawn. I hopped out of the truck, and patted Bob’s massive head through the open back window “now, you stay here” I told him, he grinned a wide doggy grin at me as I counted out some coins for the parking meter.

Reviling in the mid-morning November chill, I finished feeding the meter (glutton), readjusted the leather satchel on my right shoulder, and walked towards building, the long tail of my coat rustling and billowing out behind me cowboy-style as I walked. Entering the main lobby, I stood in line at the security checkpoint, following the line towards the metal detectors and x-ray machine. Impatient, I started to bounce on the balls of my feet, shifting my weight from side to side as I tried to burn off some nervous energy, absently; I noticed three officers move closer to me slightly. I don’t way, I wasn’t acting suspicious, and I certainly didn’t look suspicious.

Maybe it was the shoes?

I ignored the two guards and kept right on bouncing. OK, so the way I was bouncing probably made it look like I really had to pee. Maybe they were less worried about me being a potential terrorist than they were more worried about me having an accident all over this nice title floor?

“Next!” the guard manning the x-ray machine called out, I quietly moved forward, flashing my badge and my gun “empty out your pockets, please,” he requested, per request, I dug around my pockets, coming up with a large handful of loose change (about forty-eight cents give or take a couple of pennies), my keys, a yo-yo, some loose, stale dog biscuits, a well-read paperback novel (‘Storm Front’ by Jim Butcher), a deck of playing cards held together with a rubber band, a tattered, dog drool-covered tennis ball, a worn-down stick of chalk, a small compass, some small beeswax candles, a box of waterproof matches, some metal washers, a mini-bag of potato chips, a bag of unshelled roasted peanuts, a Ziploc baggie of crackers, a Swiss Army knife, and a gold pocket watch.

\Quickly realizing that I wasn’t going to be seeing the bottoms of my pockets anytime soon, and that the line behind me was about to break out into a frenzied mob if I didn’t finish _right now_. I finally just took off my jacket and the satchel and just dumped them both onto the tray that fed into the x-ray machine, idly pointing out both the small stud piercing on my nose and the small silver ring on my navel with the faux sapphire hanging from it. Passing inspection through the metal detector without as much as a beep (aluminum piercings, non-magnetic), I stood by the x-ray machine and grabbed my jacket and satchel as the guard dumped all my junk into my arms with a slight glower.

“Have a nice day, ma’am!” I called out after him with false cheer as he walked away, I quickly stuffed all the carp back into my pockets, re-holstered my gun and backup, slung my satchel over my shoulder, and approached the main desk

“Help you?” the twenty-something, bubblegum-chewing receptionist asked without looking up from her magazine. So much for security. She must’ve been an intern or somebody’s teenage daughter, had to be, no one at the Hall of Justice is that apathetic, if anything its potential grounds for a lawsuit

“Yeah. I’m Sgt. Raven Wood, SFPD, I’m looking for a Lt. Calvin Eagle” I explained, holding out my ID

“Through there” she told me, nodding towards the elevators without looking up. Shrugging my shoulders, I pocketed my ID and got in the elevator, I already had a pretty good idea of what floor I needed to go to, so I punched in the number for the appropriate floor, and emerged onto a wide room that looked like it could be any modern-day—if slightly cluttered—office building, complete with rows upon rows of cubicles. I stopped the first person I passed

“Lt. Calvin Eagle?” I asked

“Down there, first door on your left” he told me, pointing, I nodded and continued on. Finally, I spotted an open door with a nameplate reading

Lt. Calvin Eagle

Looking inside I could see that the lovely Miss. Eagle was not at home at the moment, giving me a chance to look around. The office was pretty much like any other; a small, modest room with a desk, with a desktop PC sitting on top, the screensaver was of a frog shooting its tongue out to catch a fly, with a printer sitting next to the PC. On the wall across the room from the door was a small window which gave me a lovely view of the building next door. Behind the desk were a largely empty bookcase and the obligatory State and City flags.

There were very few personal items that I could see, a small picture frame sat on the desk; the picture was of a smiling blonde woman wearing a San Francisco Fireman’s uniform, Calvin’s mother? I wondered, looked enough like her, the woman’s eyes were a different color, though, blue instead of brown. Hanging over the frame on a bead chain was a SFFD fireman’s badge; it was old and battered, looking warped around the edges, the silver finish dull and tarnished, making it almost look like it’d been tossed in a furnace at some point.

I dumped my satchel on the floor and pulled the chair out and sat down, my feet dangled a bit above the floor, the chair clearly adjusted for someone about five inches taller than me. Ignoring it, I pulled the keyboard forward and wiggled the mouse to clear the screensaver, with that done I started to poke around Calvin’s files, most of which were password-protected. Shrugging, I clicked on the help button and the password hint popped up

Towering

I glanced towards the fireman’s badge on the desk, smiling, I typed in ‘inferno’, and the screen instantly cleared

“Not very original, Kitten” I muttered, I spent the next ten or so minutes poking around in her files. Most of it was pretty mundane stuff, a few reports here, some rather boring e-mails, et cetera

“Oh, sure,” a familiar voice suddenly said a few minutes later in a tone that was just dripping with sarcasm “help yourself to my desk, why don’t you?” I casually swiveled in the chair to see a now slightly annoyed Calvin Eagle standing just inside the doorframe “I think I left half a Hershey’s bar in there” she continued, walking inside the room and stopping about two feet from me

“Already found it” I answered, holding it up. Calvin smirked and causally leaned against the edge of the desk as I idly tossed the Hershey’s at her, which she easily caught it underhanded with one hand. As she dropped the chocolate bar on the desk she looked me up and down, assessing me.

“Nice…hair” she finally said, in that hesitant tone you use when the bad cook in your family asks for your honest opinion about their latest culinary ‘creation’. I reflexively reached up and touched my hair, wondering what was wrong with it. In addition to the dye job I’d also added a few small, yellow flowers, and threaded a couple of colored ribbons and beads into my hair, giving me an almost Bohemian/hippie-like hairstyle. Not exactly fitting the tough, tomboy persona that most people initially label me with upon first meeting me, but, then again, _I_ don’t fit most labels.

“What’s wrong with it?” I wondered idly, I looked down at my shirt “this is how I normally dress, the hair included,” I explained, looking back up at her “what? You thought that leather nightmare from last night was how I usually dress?” I demanded, feeling slightly offended, I rolled my eyes “ _hell-o_ ,” I exclaimed “I was _under-cover_ , you _nit_!”

“So I heard” she muttered, completely ignoring the name-calling and absent-mindedly smoothing out her own shirt. Like me, she was dressed much more normally compared to her outfit from last night, though she was dressed much more professionally than I was. Her outfit consisted of a simple, plain black blazer with matching slacks, with a plain dark blue, button-down satin blouse, and a pair of white, lace-up tennis shoes which clashed a little bit with the black slacks.

All in all, it was a simple, relatively inexpensive, and yet professional outfit, the kind of clothing you can get at Macy’s or JC Penny’s, hell K-Mart or Wal-Mart even. Much nicer and more professional compared to my style, most of which was made up of the same stuff I wore back in high school (the ‘Your Girlfriend Wants Me’ t-shirt included). I haven’t really changed clothing styles (or sizes for that matter) since my freshman year of high school.

Even Calvin’s taste in jewelry was understated; the only pieces of jewelry that she was wearing that I could see were two small diamond stud earrings (both of which were more than likely fakes, considering how much cops get paid, which is nowhere near to what we should be getting for what we do on an almost daily basis) and a small gold Star of David necklace, so she was Jewish, huh?. There was also a thick bandage of gauze and medical tape liberally wrapped around her left hand that wasn’t there when I last saw her. It extended from her palm to the second knuckles on her fingers and wrapped around the majority of her hand, clearly not just your simple average ‘nick-you-finger-with-a-knife-while-cooking-dinner’ type deal. I idly wondered what had happened, but instead said

“Nice suit” I nodded towards her suit. She glanced down at herself, clearly a little surprised, and I suddenly got the sad feeling that she hadn’t gotten many truly flattering complements in, like, ever. Poor kid.

“Uh…thanks,” she replied, slightly confused “nice jacket,” she said, nodding towards my jacket “I always wanted one, but could never really afford it” she continued

“Two words, Kitten: thrift store” I answered, she smiled and nodded

“So,” she said, perching on the edge of the desk and folding her arms over her chest “getting back to my original question, why are you poking around in my files, anyway?” she asked in a casual tone. I shrugged as I leaned back in the chair, linked my hands behind my head, and put my feet up on the desk. All that was missing was the cowboy hat, the cigarette, and the Southern drawl, y’all.

“Just curious,” I answered honestly “wanted to know more about you, Kitten” I continued, she nodded, looking thoughtful

“All right,” she acquiesced “I can understand that,” she allowed “just don’t do it again,” she told me “and get your feet off my desk” she added, absently swatting at my feet with her hand. I put my feet down

“No promises on the ‘not-poking-around-rule’” I told her; Calvin just snorted and muttered something that sounded like ‘figures’. She frowned suddenly

“If you get to call me ‘kitten’,” she asked slowly “does that mean I get to call you ‘Raven’?” she asked

“Only if I can call you ‘Calvin’ too,” I answered with a wolfish gin, she blinked, surprised, having clearly been expecting me to either say no, or just ignore the question, expecting that, no doubt like a lot of the other bitchy, ladder-climbing women out there, I would be aloof and uber-feminist, unwilling to bow down before authority or act feminine in any way. In short, she was expecting me to do something predictable.

I don’t _do_ predictable.

I sat up and nodded towards the door “so, shall we, Calvin?” I purred, emphasizing her name, she ducked her head slightly and blushed a little, clearly not used to being so blatantly flattered/seduced by another woman, but her smile widened even as she did; a pleased and intrigued smile.

“Why not?” she replied, she straightened up, then reached over me to grab the long, off-white, cream-colored, ankle-length overcoat with wide, roomy, flap-top hip pockets that was draped over the back of the chair. As she put the overcoat on, I grabbed the large leather tote bag that was sitting on the desk and held it out to her “thanks” she muttered, slinging it over her shoulder as she reached out to grab the SFFD badge slung over the picture frame. She quickly looped the chain over her neck and tucked it under the open collar of her shirt as I stood up. Without the heels that both of us were wearing last night I barely came up past her shoulder, well, I thought as I absently put my hand on the small of her back again as we both settled into an even pace out of the office and down the aisle, at least I didn’t have to crane my neck too bad to see her face, unlike what I have to do with most people. The price of being only five feet tall, ladies and gentlemen: neck strain.

“Hey, Wood!” a male voice called out as we passed

“Yeah, O’Malley?” I asked

“Don’t do to the kid what you did to your last partner” he laughed

“What did you do?” Calvin asked immediately

“Oh, nothing, everybody always overreacts about that one” I answered

******

As Calvin and I walked outside, I nodded towards my truck

“Here, we’ll take the Tumbler” I said

“You named your truck,” Calvin remarked “ _why_ does that not surprise me?” she wondered as we walked up to the Tumbler

“What?” I asked “it’s _my_ truck” I told her. The Tumbler originally started life as just another ordinary black Ford F-250 Super Duty XLT Crew Cab pickup truck, but I’d almost completely overhauled it since it came into my possession, I’d added chrome accents on the door handles and hubcaps, added some nifty electric blue lights on the A-frame on either side of the windshield, as well as on the left and right sides of the undercarriage (‘StreetGlow’ its called), and completely redid the interior

As Calvin and I neared the curb, Bob let out a loud woof 

“Jesus! You’ve got a grizzly bear!” Calvin exclaimed upon seeing him, which wasn’t that far off of an analogy I supposed, Bob weighs about 180 pounds and is a little less than five feet in length and is close to forty inches in height at the shoulders. Like I said, he looks something like what a Labrador Retriever might look like on steroids; big, stocky, muscular, and _very, very, **very**_ hairy.

“Calvin, meet Bob, Bob, Calvin, Calvin, Bob” I introduced them

“What… _is_ he?” Calvin asked

“He’s a Newfoundland; they’re a close cousin of the Labrador Retriever. Actually, they’re the ancestor of the Lab” I explained, she glanced at me, disbelieving

“Oh, no, no,” she said with a laugh “I had Labradors, OK? I grew up with three of them, and let me tell you right now that _this_ ,” she pointed at Bob “is _not_ a relative of the Labrador; for one thing, the Labs I grew up with were _not_ this big, OK? They were _never_ this big, I mean this isn’t a dog, this…this is an _elephant!_ ” she exclaimed

“It’s true” I said

“Prove it” she dared me, sounding like a ten year-old

“Well, you see,” I began “the Newfoundland originates from a breed that was known as the ‘St. John’s Water Dog’ on what is now the island of Newfoundland, Canada from dog breeds indigenous to the island, in fact some even say that they’re descended from black bear dogs brought over to the island by the Vikings, but most people think that that’s just romantic thought, and the common consensus is that Newfoundland is actually descended from large, mastiff-type dogs brought to the island by generations of Portuguese fishermen, who—by the way—had been fishing on the Great Banks of Newfoundland since the 1400’s,” I explained “by the time colonization was permitted in 1610, the basic physical and mental characteristics of the breed had been established, like webbed paws for swimming, an oily, water-resistant coat, and a natural instinct for retrieving things in the water. By the early 1880’s, Irish and English fishermen in Newfoundland described two types of water dogs, one which heavily built with a long, shaggy coat, and a lighter built one with a much shorter coat, which was known as the ‘Lesser St. John’s Water Dog’, which eventually became what we now know as the ‘Labrador Retriever’” I concluded, I crossed my arms and threw my hair back in a ‘so there’ gesture for added effect

“Forget I asked” Calvin muttered, clearly dazed by the overflow of information I’d given her

“I like trivia,” I explained unapologetically “oh, and by the way, the largest Newfoundland on record was six feet in length from nose to tail and weighed three hundred and sixty pounds. That’s the same size as a newborn elephant” I added, Calvin chuckled and glanced at Bob

“Can I pet him?” she asked, changing the subject, I chuckled

“If you do, he’ll never leave you alone” I warned, she smiled and then easily reached out and lightly scratched Bob under the chin. As soon as her hand touched him, Bob’s tongue instantly lolled out of the corner of his mouth in a wide, ecstatic doggy grin. Grinning myself, I unlocked the truck “c’mon, Kitten, work to be done,” I told her as I climbed into the truck’s cab, having to grab hold of the doorframe and hoist myself in (again I’m short, people) as I did so, Calvin joining me from the passengers side

“Wow,” Calvin remarked upon climbing into the cab “very…futuristic,” she remarked. Like the exterior of the Tumbler, I’d also redid the interior, partly so that someone my height could reach everything in the front of the cab, but also to suit my own sense of ‘vehicular style’ if you will. The interior of the Tumbler, like the exterior, also featured lots of electric blue decals, mostly on the dashboard, specifically on the speedometer, the fuel gage and rest of the readouts. The middle of the dashboards had your standard car stereo controls but with a centralized touch screen right underneath, the Tumbler originally came with one of those new computer systems that act like a GPS and monitor things like fuel levels and oil and tire pressure, when I overhauled it, I just upgraded the system rather than replace it “is this a truck?” Calvin asked, looking around “or the batmobile?” I chuckled

“A little of both,” I told her. As I buckled my seatbelt an electronically synthesized rendition of Glenn Miller’s ‘ _American Patrol_ ’ filled the air, muttering, I fumbled around in my coat for a few seconds until I finally found my cell phone, it was one of those new Smartphones, you know the ones, the phones that can take a call and cook your breakfast at the same time “hello?”

“ _Hey, Raven, its Eddie,_ ” Eddie Haskell’s voice said on the other end “ _listen, a maid at the Hyatt-Regency Hotel just found a dead body in one of their suites_ ” he told me

“Lovely” I remarked sarcastically

“ _It’s under our jurisdiction_ ” he continued

“All right, I’ll be there,” I answered “see you then” I hung up

“New case?” Calvin asked

“Yeah,” I answered “dead body at the Hyatt-Regency Embarcadero,” I explained as I started the engine “you like Louie Primo?” I asked as the stereo came to life, Louie Primo’s ‘ _Angelina_ ’ blaring out of speakers as I accelerated out of the parking space a little too fast, Calvin grunted in surprise as she was forced back into her seat. I’m not the world’s best driver, I freely admit that, I always drive a little recklessly, I go a little too fast, take turns a little too sharply, things like that. The fact that I drive a two ton pickup truck probably doesn’t help matters much

“Uh, do you… _always_ …drive like this?” Calvin asked as I turned the corner “Ah! God! You’re not supposed to take corners so fast, damn it!” she exclaimed

“Who says?” I asked, as she frantically clung to the seat’s armrests, her pose was almost comical, kind of like that ‘crash positions’ scene in the movie _‘Airplane’_.

“ _I_ do,” she told me “traffic cop, remember?” she said, gripping the armrests tighter

“I remember” I answered as I turned another corner

“Good for you!” Calvin ground out with false cheer “now, slow down before you kill someone, damn it!” she continued

“Oh, _re-lax_ ,” I exclaimed “I swear, you keep this up and you’ll be dead of a stroke before you’re fifty, you mark my words, Kitten. Whoa! Shit!” I violently swerved to the right as a mid-sized sedan suddenly swerved into my lane without slowing or signaling; nearly forcing me onto the sidewalk “idiot!” I snarled, regaining control of the Tumbler and slamming on my horn. The jerk then had the gull to honk his horn at me as I passed him “yeah, same to you, asshole!” I yelled, even though he probably couldn’t hear me

“OK, no offense,” Calvin said “but who the hell taught you how to drive?!” she demanded “hey!” she yelled as I suddenly pulled the wheel, narrowly avoiding another truck that had nearly been forced off the road by the same sedan that had cut me off, I absently grabbed Calvin’s arm and pulled her body towards me to keep her from hitting her head on the window

“Relax,” I told her again as I straightened the Tumbler out and released her arm “jeez, crowded today” I remarked, Calvin stared at me, eyes wide. I decided right then not to tell her that I was the one who taught myself how to drive and that I’d failed my drivers test six times before the State of California finally agreed to let me have my license, so it was something of a minor miracle that I could drive at all. She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth

“What…” she asked, slowly enunciating each word, as if she was talking to someone who was a little bit ‘slower’ compared to the rest of the world “…did…you… _do_ …to…your…last…partner?” I sighed and rolled my eyes

“Nothing!” I exclaimed “we were having an argument on how to best catch our perp, finally I got so fed up with him that I knocked him out, tied him to a chair, and wrote ’idiot’ on his forehead in Sharpie” I explained, Calvin stared at me, clearly not entirely believing me

“That’s it?” she asked dubiously

“That’s it,” I confirmed, returning my attention to the road “wasn’t this in my file?” I asked, she shook her head “oh,” I said “I untied him afterwards,” I mumbled, I glanced forward over the dashboard “bump coming up, watch out” I warned, noticing that we were headed for one of San Francisco’s famous (or infamous if you’re a native) hills

“What?” Calvin asked, clearly startled by my rapid change in subject

“Bump,” I repeated, just as the Tumbler suddenly hit the end of level ground, and because of my driving, bounced up slightly as we crested over the top of the hill. A yelp of pain suddenly filled the truck’s cab “I said ‘watch out’” I pointed out logically, Calvin just glowered at me as she rubbed the back of her head

******

**Embarcadero Center, Hyatt-Regency Hotel**

The Embarcadero Center is the name for five interconnected towers down by the waterfront, its got a hotel and shops and restaurants of all kinds

“ _Oh my **god!**_ ” Calvin exclaimed in pure frustration “I swear the only thing you _can_ do right behind the wheel of a car is _park_ it!!” she complained as I pulled into a space in the parking garage across the street from the fifth tower, I turned to her as I unbuckled my seatbelt

“You can always _walk_ back,” I threatened; her eyes went wide a little and she swallowed nervously, clearly realizing that only thing that can climb San Francisco’s hills with any real success is a spider monkey “well?” I prompted

“I’ll be good” she answered

“Atta girl,” I muttered, opening my door and hopping down from the Tumbler, Calvin following, I paused briefly to let Bob out and clip his leash on “police dog,” I explained to Calvin’s inquiring look, jiggling the K9 ID tag on his collar. Outside the Hyatt was a chaotic scene, several police cruisers were parked haphazardly in front of the building and crime scene tape had been strung up proclaiming ‘police line do not cross’ in bold black letters. Somebody had left his bulbs on, the flashing lights reflecting off the windows of a nearby building, making my eyes ache slightly. Inside the front lobby, Inspector Eddie Haskell was waiting for me “hey, Eddie” I greeted him

“Hey” he replied. Like the previous night, he was dressed in comfortable, practical clothes, much like I was now, but instead of sneakers he wore heavy-duty work boots, and a plain black polo shirt instead of a t-shirt, and instead of a leather jacket, he was wearing the same black pea coat as the night before. Like I said, Eddie and I have known each other for years, I’m a proud only child, and he had a sister who sadly died young, but we’re the closest thing either of us has to a sibling, so right away I could see the subtle signs of stress on his face, the tightening around the corners of his eyes, the hard set of his jaw. But, for the moment I let it pass, waiting for him to tell me himself, rather than try to force it out of him, which would be like trying to pull teeth with a pair of tweezers.

“You remember Lt. Eagle?” I asked him, gesturing to Calvin as she held up her badge

“Yeah, sure. Hey, kid,” He replied as he shook her hand, he then reached down to ruffle Bob’s fur “hey there, fur ball” he said, massaging Bob’s left ear and reducing my dog to a puddle of slobbery near-orgasmic goo

“So,” I said “what do we have?” Eddie let go of Bob’s ear (much to Bob’s obvious disappointment if the quiet high-pitched whine sent in my direction was any indication) and pulled out his notebook

“Caucasian female, early to mid-twenties, no ID, found by the maid early this morning around six,” he glanced up at me “it’s bad” he said seriously

“So why are we being called in?” I asked, I held up a hand “wait a minute, don’t tell me,” I guessed “that’s the bad part,” Eddie nodded, looking a little ill suddenly “what floor?” I asked, knowing I was going to regret it later

“Sixth, Room 1313,” Eddie replied, he glanced at Calvin “I’ll get a bucket for the kid” he added, walking away. Calvin and I both stared at each other, confused and worried

“Bucket?” we both asked each other simultaneously

******

**Sixth Floor, Room 1313**

Eddie was right.

The crime scene was bad

_Really_ bad

Bad enough that it made even _my_ skin crawl, and I’ve seen some pretty gruesome things in my time.

The room was large, your typical penthouse sitting room, and it was done up in rich tones of gold and red, like some old movie set from the twenties, or the thirties or forties, expensive looking, yet it still looked fake nonetheless; a cheap imitation. I could feel myself sinking into the thick, rust-colored shag carpeting, the thick pile doing its best to devour my Chuck Taylors. As if I wasn’t short enough.

In the center of the room were a sofa and two armchairs, the sofa on the left, the armchairs on the right. Both were covered in thick dark leather; they were arranged so that they were facing each other, and anyone sitting in either one of them had to simply turn their heads to the side to look out the room’s main feature; a large bay window, which showed a magnificent view of the Bay. But it wasn’t the décor that made my stomach turn—although that was a pretty close second—it was the victim’s body that had me trying to stop my breakfast from reappearing.

Our victim, whoever she was, might have been a very attractive woman in life, but what the maid and the responding officers had found was, in a word, unrecognizable.

She’d been gutted.

Long, deep, crisscrossing cuts of various sizes ran from the base of her neck down towards her pubic area in a haphazard pattern. Her thighs were a series of crisscrossing cuts, most of them deep enough to show bone between layers of flesh made pale by the excessive lack of blood. Her arms were in the same condition, with the added bonus of her fingertips having been almost completely sheered off. But the worse part was her face.

Or, rather what was left of it.

Our killer had used a very sharp knife to carefully slice off the muscle and skin over the victim’s face, leaving a toothless and eyeless skull staring out at the world

“Oh, god” someone whispered, I turned to see that Calvin had suddenly turned a rather impressive shade of white as her knees suddenly buckled, the shock and horror of what she was seeing finally registering in her brain

“Calvin!!” I lunged and managed to wrap my arms around her waist, catching her before she hit the floor “Calvin?” I asked, she suddenly turned green and gagged, violently pushing me away and charging for the door, both hands clutched over her mouth “aw, hell!” I swore, chasing after her, dodging CSU techs as I did. Outside the room Eddie, true to his word, had placed a large plastic bucket on the floor just outside the door. Calvin collapsed to her knees in front of it and promptly threw up. I automatically dropped down next to her and with one hand I pulled her hair back and with my other, began to gently rub her back

“Oh, **_god!!_** ” she exclaimed, she gagged again and started to dry heave

“Easy, Kitten,” I soothed as she sat up “easy, just take it easy,” I told her “just breath, slowly, atta girl” I whispered. Panting, she leaned against the wall and slowly stretched out her legs until she was sitting flat on the floor

“Raven,” she began, she swallowed nervously “I’ve seen d-dead bodies before,” she began, clearly trying her best to control the uneven stammer in her voice “I even used to work in Homicide before t-t-transferring to Management Control,” she explained, still stammering slightly “but…oh, god!” she took another less ragged breath and briefly looked like she might vomit again, but it seemed to pass as quickly as it came “god!” she whispered, she glanced up at me “who-who could…” she trailed off, staring at me almost hopefully, as if I could answer that question. Sighing, I sat down next to her and stretched out my own surprisingly long legs

“Someone who is very, very sick,” I answered, sighing again. She didn’t protest as I quietly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against me, offering what little comfort I could, as Bob—who had been patiently waiting outside the door—quietly padded over and rested his heavy head on Calvin’s knee, offering his own kind of comfort. Calvin absently reached out and began to lightly stroke one of his ears between her fingers as I quietly passed her a stick of mint gum “here, helps get rid of the taste” I explained, she quietly took it, unwrapped it, then popped it in her mouth and started chewing absently while continuing to pet Bob’s head.

Distantly I heard the elevator ding, looking up I saw Eddie walking towards us. Trailing behind him at a rather leisurely pace was a thirty-something woman with strong Arabic features. On her head she wore the traditional head scarf that most devout Muslim women wear, this one was a rather pretty light blue color. It clashed slightly with the thin maroon turtleneck sweater, blue jeans and work boots she was wearing. Over one shoulder she had a large black duffel bag.

Eddie silently nodded to us as he passed by and walked into the room, looking stone faced. The woman, however, stopped

“Raven, Bob,” she nodded at me and my dog in greeting, she glanced at Calvin “who’s your friend?” she asked, her voice still carried a distinct Indian accent, even though her English was flawless and she even had a slight British inflection in her speech patterns

“Ah, my dear Calvin Eagle,” I began, standing up “allow me to introduce Dr. Jasmina Darshi, Medical Examiner for San Francisco County” I proclaimed with a grandiose flourish, pleased when Calvin smiled slightly, Jasmina chuckled

“ _Former_ Medical Examiner, you mean,” she corrected me, smiling “I just do pro bono work for you lot now,” she continued. Her face always reminds me of that famous National Geographic cover, you know, the one with that woman with those striking green eyes, except Jasmina’s eyes are blue instead of green, most likely the result of having an English ancestor, India being a British colony until 1947 and all. She nodded towards the room “shall we?” she asked. I glanced at Calvin, catching Eddie leaving out of the corner of my eye as I did

“You up for it, Kitten?” I asked, she took a breath, chewed on the gum some more, and then nodded

“Yeah” she answered, standing up and clearly trying not to show that her knees were shaking, I followed suit, helping to steady her, silently motioning for Bob to stay outside the room as I did so

“I gotta warn you,” I told Jasmina “it’s bad” she nodded

“I’ve seen worse” she told me, I nodded

“Uh-huh” I said as she walked into the room. To her credit she didn’t scream in horror or even gasp, all she did was silently stand there for a few minutes as she surveyed the damage. The victim’s body was lying in between the sofa and armchairs, where a coffee table would normally be, the thick shag carpet underneath her body was now partially stained in blood, a small stain a couple of inches wide sat next to the victim herself.

“I’ll take the bedroom” Calvin said, quickly making her escape into an adjacent room. I nodded absently as Jasmina finally sighed and then crouched down next to the body and opened her duffel bag. As she did so, I took a moment to examine the room. Next to the sofa, nearest to the door, was a small side table, on it was a bucket filled with water, once ice, in the bucket was an open bottle of champagne, two glasses, one half-full the other empty, sat next to the bucket. Directly opposite from the champagne was another side table of equal height and design, sitting on it was a single rose, most of the petals were now scattered on the floor in a vague trail.

Curious, I followed the trail with my eyes, finally coming to stop in front of a small pile of black cloth piled near the sofa, not far from the victim’s body, it had already been marked with a placard and was being photographed as I walked up to it. I gingerly crouched down (trying my best to avoid stepping in the bloodstain) and picked it up and shook it out as soon as the photographer was done.

Ah-ha, a little black dress, every woman’s best weapon in the field of seduction, even I, Miss. tomboy extraordinaire, has one. Now, granted, it’s been buried in the dark depths of my closet for the past four years—which is also how long its been since I’ve had a real date—and is actually more of a charcoal grey than black, but the point is I have one. I leaned forward and squinted at the tags, wincing at what I saw. Correction, I thought, an expensive little black dress; one-hundred percent pure silk. Ouch, I could feel my already borderline anorexic wallet going into spasms at the mere thought of the price tag on this little number.

I stood up and looked around the room 

“Champagne, a rose, a little black dress, room with a view, romantic night out gone bad?” I wondered aloud to myself. I shook my head, brushing off my first thought “no, that doesn’t make any sense, why mutilate the body then? Why not just strangle her or hit her over the head and be done with it?” I glanced back at the dress as I handed it to another tech who quickly loaded it into an evidence bag; something was missing, but what “shoes,” I realized, snapping my fingers as it came “where are the shoes?” I wondered “hey,” I called out “did anybody find a pair of shoes to go with this dress yet?” I asked. The assembled hoard of CSU techs all shook their heads no

“Raven!” Calvin suddenly called out from the bedroom. When I walked in I immediately noticed that the bedroom—like the main room—was also large and ostentatious, with lots of red and plush fabrics that could be only considered attractive if viewed in candlelight, preferably by someone who’s had a little too much champagne. There were candles, actually, four of them surrounding the bed, all in nice, neat little wall sconces, all now burned down to melted stubs of wax and extinguished. The bed was in the center of the room, and it was actually rather small considering the overall expense of our surroundings; the sheets were a bright crimson, probably more pure silk, I thought disgustedly, wondering how much of my tax work went into this decedent monument to excess. The bed sheets were rumpled and definitely gave off the distinct impression that whoever had been here last had not been using this bed for sleeping 

“What’d you find?” I asked Calvin

“Well,” she began “at first, nothing, except for the fact that whoever was in this bed last—”

“…wasn’t sleeping in it,” I finished; she nodded, grinning, I smirked back in response “I got that. What else?” I asked

“The bathroom’s spotless, and I mean _spotless_ ,” she led me over to an adjacent door which opened into a bathroom that was probably larger than my entire bedroom, Calvin walked inside and turned around to face me and spread out her arms to indicate the room in general “nothing, nada, zip. Not even a stray hair as far as I can see” she explained, I nodded in understanding

“All right, that probably means that our victim either wasn’t alive long enough to use the facilities, or that our killer washed up in here and then scrubbed the place down,” I glanced down at the floor tiles; a hundred or so teeny, tiny white titles less than an inch across “probably used bleach too,” I muttered “what else?” I asked

“There’s this,” Calvin led me back out into the bedroom and crouched down next to the bed and lifted up the bed skirt revealing a large black carryon suitcase, I got down on my knees and grabbed the strap “you won’t get it out,” Calvin told me “I already tried, it’s too—,” she broke off in surprise as I easily pried the suitcase out and hoisted it onto the bed one-handed, spotting something on the floor behind the case as I did so “…heavy” she finished

“You were saying?” I asked, she stared at me for a few seconds and then shook her head

“Let’s see what’s inside,” she said, she unzipped the lid and threw it open “oh god!” she exclaimed, turning away in clear disgust “OK, I did _not_ need to see that!” she exclaimed, I peered into the case, the contents of which were a wide variety of sex toys, and not your average, run-of-the-mill sex toys either, these things looked more like something out of a dominatrix’s closet, there were at least four different types of whips and other equally ominous-looking items 

“Kinky,” I remarked, not affected in the least, I raised an eyebrow at Calvin, who was still recoiling in disgust “you had a very sheltered childhood, didn’t you?” I asked

“No!” she exclaimed “but…still, I don’t need to see… _that_! This early in the morning,” she gestured wildly to the open suitcase “seriously,” she continued “what _is_ most this stuff anyway?”

“Well,” I began, I rearranged my latex gloves which were starting to slide off my small, rather delicate and ladylike, hands (‘one size fits all’ my ass) and then reached into the case and pulled out a dildo and held it up “I think you can figure out this one for yourself, Kitten, _hmm_?” I asked, raising an eyebrow challengingly. She promptly turned a bright red and tugged uncomfortably at her collar.

“That’s, um, about the only…thing I, er…recognize,” she mumbled, she loudly cleared her throat and then asked in a clearer voice “what’s the rest?” I let her off the hook and returned my attention to the case

“Hmm, let’s see,” I pulled out the items and laid them down one-by-one on the bedspread, identifying them as I went “uh, we’ve got…whips of varying lengths and styles…a paddle…another paddle…police-style handcuffs…a collar…a ball gag…a set of cat-o’-nine-tails… _fuzzy_ handcuffs, in disgustingly bright bubblegum pink no less…more dildos…and…a bundle of…hemp rope,” I puzzled over the rope “huh, now that’s a tad old-fashioned,” I remarked, tugging on it to test its strength “most people in the BDSM crowd use nylon rope nowadays, cheaper to get” I muttered

“You’d know wouldn’t you?” Calvin muttered, I turned to stare at her

“Excuse me?” I asked, I wasn’t offended all that much at her automatically thinking that I was into BDSM because I’m gay (trust me I’ve gotten a lot worse flak for my sexuality, especially during high school), I was just surprised that she’d said it out loud. At my no doubt somewhat startled expression, Calvin smacked a hand to her forehead in frustration and cringed, giving me an apologetic look

“Sorry. I get weird without my morning coffee,” she apologized “I start blabbing things out without thinking” she explained. I smiled at that answer and waved the remark off.

“That’s all right,” I replied “I’m not, by the way,” I added “that’s just a stereotype, just because I’m gay does not automatically mean that I’m into BDSM” I told her

“Got it,” Calvin told me, she paused “so…” she said slowly “what does this mean? Our victim was into S&M?” she asked, I shrugged

“Possibly,” I answered “maybe. Maybe not, maybe the killer planted this to discredit her, whoever she is, who knows,” I sighed and dropped the bundle of rope back into the suitcase “c’mon,” I said “we’ll let the CSI’s comb over this, let’s go see what Jasmina’s got,” I told her, once more putting my hand on the small of her back and guiding her out of the room. As we walked back to the main room, I stopped and bent down on the other side of the bed. I smirked and pulled up the object I’d spotted behind the suitcase, or rather the two objects “ah-ha! Shoes!” I proclaimed, triumphantly holding up a pair of black leather, three-inch, high-heeled pumps. Calvin stared at me like I’d lost my marbles. Thing is, according to some of my friends, I’ve already lost them.

“And, uh… _what_ …exactly, do the shoes mean?” she asked gently, as if talking to a crazy person, I grinned

“It means that out victim was here long enough to take off her shoes, and given the fact that there’s a slinky little black dress out there, maybe she even had time to change her clothes, meaning that she’d probably had some time to settle in” I explained, bouncing on the balls of my feet again

“So, she wasn’t killed immediately after she got here,” Calvin reasoned, quickly finding her ticket for my train of thought “so, she had to have been here at least…what a couple of hours, maybe? A few days even?”

“At least,” I agreed, nodding, coming off my enthusiasm as quickly as I got it “meaning that this wasn’t a crime of opportunity. Someone was watching her, probably stalking her,” I continued “someone planned this”

******

“Well, what do we have so far?” I asked Jasmina as I walked over, passing the shoes to a CSI as I did

“A mess” she answered instantly without looking up

“Oh, that good, huh?” I answered sarcastically

“Mm-hmm,” she replied as she pulled the thermometer out of what was left of the victim’s liver “body temperature is ninety-four point seven,” she frowned at her watch “that put’s the time of death somewhere between four and six AM” she made a note on her clipboard, I gingerly crouched down next to her, still trying to avoid that bloodstain

“Signs of rape?” I wondered, holding a hand in front of my mouth and nose to try to stifle the smell. They say that smell is the strongest sense linked to memory, following that line of reasoning the smell of blood is the kind of smell that lingers with you, the kind you don’t easily forget, especially in large amounts, it’s even more memorable when it’s mixed in with the smell of innards.

“There _is_ evidence of tearing,” Jasmina confirmed, nodding “along with fluids, but, in all honestly, its hard to tell with the body in this condition,” she dumped the swab she was holding into a vial and capped it before dropping it into an evidence bag “I’ll know more once I have her on the table,” she dropped the thermometer into a clear plastic bag “any idea who she is?” she wondered, I grunted

“I’ll let you know when we find the face” I answered, standing up

“What about the guestbook?” Calvin asked suddenly, looking anywhere but the body and holding her clenched right hand near her chin, while nervously fingering and toying with her Star of David necklace with her left

“I think Eddie’s checking now,” I answered, at that moment, Eddie himself walked in “speaking of whom” I muttered

“Hey,” he said, he took a breath, looking more than a little winded

“What’d the hell you do?” I asked “ _run_ up all six flights?” I asked, he waved his hand dismissively as he briefly doubled over at the waist, putting his hands on his knees, and taking several deep breaths

“Later,” he answered, taking another breath “you’ll never guess who signed the guestbook for this room” he told me, huffing and puffing a little less

“Enlighten me” I answered

“Marie Suzette” he answered, I did a double-take

“Wait…” Calvin said slowly “…not the daughter of _Judge_ Suzette?” she asked

“The very same,” I answered, taking the guestbook from Eddie, sure enough

Marie Suzette

Was written on the guestbook, right next to the room number in neat and elegant handwriting “this just keeps getting better and better” I muttered.

“Oh, just wait, it gets _even_ better,” Eddie told me “ _two_ women checked into this suite last night” he continued. I looked up at him, startled, and then my head snapped back to the still-unidentified body so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash

“Oh, this guy’s smart,” I realized, Calvin nodded “he—“

“…cuts off her fingers, so no fingerprints, and he destroys her face and teeth so that we can’t use dental records or even a photo” she finished my train of thought. I nodded; we had no idea which one of the two women this was

“Beautiful,” I muttered sarcastically, throwing up my hands “just fucking beautiful!”


	3. The Judge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all you seventeen people! Glad to see that people are reading this! Like it? Hate it? Please let me know! :=)

**

**San Francisco Hall of Justice, Southern Station**

Since there was really nothing more for Calvin and me at the crime scene, we went back to Southern Station to look up Judge Suzette, while Eddie stayed behind to interview guests and staff at the hotel. While Calvin went to the pull the file on Judge Suzette, I waited for her in her office

“OK, I couldn’t find the hard copy of Judge Suzette’s…file,” Calvin said as she walked back into her office, she stopped and stared at me, understandable, I suppose, since I was currently sitting cross-legged on her desk eating a Snickers bar that I’d gotten from a nearby vending machine “what? Again with the desk?” she asked, sounding rather stereotypically Yiddish for a moment, New York accent included. For about half a second she simply stood there and stared “what are you…?” she started then shook her head “will you get off my desk. Please?” she requested, I shrugged and relinquished my perch, unfolding my small frame and sliding to the floor with what Calvin apparently perceived as an unfair amount of grace and dignity. At her disgruntled expression, I grinned

“Dancer” I told her around a mouthful of chocolate, peanuts, caramel, and nougat.

“ _Any-way_ ,” she continued in a slightly aggravated tone, glaring at me slightly. I beamed up at her in response “like I said, I couldn’t find the hard copy, so I’ll have to look it up on the computer” she explained, there was a touch of frustration and downright dread in her tone at the thought of using the computer. Despite this, she sat down at her desk, booted up the computer, and started typing as I climbed back on top of the desk and resumed my previous pose, Calvin glanced at me, annoyed, but before she could say or do anything there was a sudden ‘ping’ from the computer, Calvin look vaguely startled

“What is it?” I asked, but she ignored me, instead squinting at the screen, she blinked and then tapped the ESC key, there was another ‘ping’

“No,” she told the computer with forced patience “I want to cancel the search, cancel,” another tap of the ESC key and another ping, Calvin was starting to look more and more frustrated by the second, or is that by the ping? “no,” she ground out through gritted teeth “cancel, you piece of crap, cancel!” she snarled, now frantically hitting the ESC key “cancel, damn it!” she snarled, there was a sudden rude-sounding buzz from the vicinity of the hard drive and the screen suddenly went blue.

Calvin suddenly looked downright murderous “that’s it!” she exclaimed

“Hey! Hey!” I intervened and pulled the keyboard away from her before she decided to shoot it or something “easy there, Kitten, you’re gonna pop a vessel or something if you keep this up” I told her

“Sorry,” she apologized, she sighed “I just hate these things, whatever happened to paper? I like paper” she wondered

“Hey, so do I,” I told her as I pulled the keyboard onto to my knees “but you gotta keep up with the times,” I told her as I typed in a series of commands, the screen blinked and then went back to normal “there you go” I told her, setting the keyboard back down on the desk. Calvin stared at me

“OK, how did you do that?” she asked slowly, as if she was expecting me to suddenly start walking on water, I shrugged

“I’m good with computers,” I answered “ran circles around my computer lab teacher in high school” I added

“OK, now see, if _I_ had tried that, I’d have probably caused a state-wide blackout and blown up the computer” she explained, I chuckled

“You want me to do it?” I asked, reaching for the keyboard again

“Please” she answered. I pulled the keyboard back onto my lap again and started typing as Calvin waited expectantly, ideally toying with her hair, a gentle scent wafted my way as she did, she wasn’t wearing an overpowering perfume I noticed, just a very light scent, vanilla, maybe?

“Is that vanilla perfume you’re wearing?” I asked

“Huh?” Calvin asked, looking confused, she lifted her wrist to her nose and sniffed “oh, no, body lotion, actually. Got it as a gift in one of those bath kits from a friend” she explained, I nodded

“It’s nice,” I replied “subtle,” I continued “not too harsh on the senses”

“Oh…thanks,” she said, she glanced at me “that’s…uh, a nice scent too, what you’re…you know…wearing” she muttered, clearly uncomfortable

“I’m not wearing anything,” I answered 

“Oh” she quietly

“Never do” I explained

“Oh,” she said again “well, it’s nice whatever it is”

“It’s just me,” I answered “no bath salts, no perfumes, no lotions, just me” I told her

“Well…it’s…nice” she said 

“It’s OK to complement me, Kitten” I told her

“What?” she asked

“It’s Ok to complement me,” I repeated “I’m not going to think that you’re hitting on me just because you complemented me”

“I’m not,” she said quickly “hitting on you, I mean” she added lamely

“I didn’t say you were,” I pointed out gently “but it almost always happens this way,” I explained “every time someone finds out I’m gay, they divide into two camps, the men are either get off on the thought of me sleeping with other women, or their afraid of accidentally insulting me, or some seem to think that I just haven’t ‘found the right man yet’, and the women are suddenly afraid to say anything to me because they’re afraid that I might think that they’re hitting on me,” I explained “of course,” I added with a shrug “there are also the women who are still unsure if they’re gay or not and decide that they want to experiment with an actual lesbian to find out. Then there are the curious ones, who while not actually gay aren’t afraid to try it out of curiosity. And then there are just the plain old nymphomaniac ones who’ll just sleep with anything that moves”

“Now see, that’s what I like about you,” Calvin said, the sarcasm just dripping in her voice “you’re _so_ kind and sweet” she drawled, I chuckled

“I can be kind and sweet” I retorted indignantly

“Oh really?” she challenged. I turned to her, baring my teeth in a predatory smile

“Oh, yes,” I answered “I can do kind and sweet, I can also do slow and gentle. Or even hard and rough,” I didn’t have to wait too long for the blush to creep up Calvin’s cheeks as the innuendo sank in “you see, the question now, Kitten is. What do _you_ prefer?” I wondered, I frowned in thought for a few seconds “mmm, no,” I decided “actually, I think a more accurate question is ‘which kind of woman are you’?” I wondered, purring the words as I leaned ever-so forward “are you…the uncertain type who isn’t sure if she straight or not?” I asked

“I’m not gay” she repeated, a bit more forcibly this time

“I never asked if you were,” I husked out “and frankly I don’t care, because that wasn’t my question,” I pointed out “you see, the question _is_ , are you the kind of woman who’s willing to… _experiment_ , hmm? The kind who’s not afraid to get involved with another woman because she’s worried about what other people might think” I wondered

“I’ll have you know I can be pretty daring” she challenged, turning to face me

“Oh, I’m sure,” I agreed “but we’re not talking about dodging bullets or chasing down suspects here, we’re talking about something _far more_ dangerous. Could you do that, Kitten? Willingly offer up your body, and possibly your heart and soul, to another woman, no questions asked?”

“I thought we were talking about sex” she asked in response, her own voice getting a little husky

“ _No_ ,” I replied “we’re not talking about _just_ sex,” I explained, leaning forward some more “because _sex_ , you see,” I explained, hissing the word “is just a bunch of different chemical reactions in the brain, almost any drug can replicate that, what we’re talking about goes way beyond _just sex _, what we’re talking about is _giving_ yourself—willingly—to another person completely, mind…body…heart…and _soul_ , no matter what their gender is” I explained__

__“Sounds dangerous” Calvin replied in a voice that was now as equally husky and thick as mine, her chair creaked as she leaned forward_ _

__“Very,” I agreed “but oh so enticing and tempting, isn’t it? Just like mistletoe”_ _

__“’Mistletoe’?” she asked confused_ _

__“Mmm, mistletoe,” I repeated, we were just a few inches apart now “see, despite the romanticism we’ve all been taught, mistletoe berries are actually very… _dangerous_ , poisonous actually”_ _

__“Like a kiss” she nearly whispered, just as under the spell as I was_ _

__“ _Oh, Kitten,_ ” I whispered back, so close now that I could kiss her quite easily if I wanted to, and I knew that she’d kiss me back, I knew it the moment we first met, I knew that she wanted to kiss me, and I knew that I wanted to kiss her “a kiss, my dear, sweet, naïve, Calvin Eagle,” I explained “is ever so much, more… _deadlier_ ,” I explained, leaning forward as she did the same…_ _

__The computer suddenly chirped, breaking the spell between us, but there was no sudden awkwardness between us, no wondering what had just happened, the whole thing had felt so natural, it was as if we were just another couple who had been interrupted in an intimate moment. I looked up at the screen and noticed that Judge Suzette’s file had popped up “hey-oh!” I exclaimed with a grin, pleased with the results “there we are,” I muttered, setting the keyboard down “beautiful”_ _

__“Huh,” Calvin said, leaning forward to examine the screen “well, aren’t you the little _maven_?” she noted appreciatively_ _

__“Yeah, I’m a regular _mensch_ ” I answered, she chuckled at that_ _

__“You like old Jewish vaudeville?” she asked, still smiling_ _

__“Who doesn’t?”_ _

__“An anti-Semite?” Calvin wondered rhetorically. I rolled my eyes_ _

__“ _Be-sides_ them” I replied_ _

__“Hmm…” Calvin said, clearly pretending to think about it “I’m going to go with…everybody else”_ _

__“Hmm,” I replied, also pretending to think seriously about it “I think you may be right” I answered. We both grinned at each other_ _

__“I practically lived it growing up, borderline stereotyping and all” she explained_ _

__“Did you now?” I asked, intrigued_ _

__“Yep,” she answered “I have the bat mitzvah to prove it,” she held out her Star of David necklace as proof “my mother gave me this when I turned thirteen,” she explained, there was a slight sad and wistful tone in her voice when she mentioned her mother “I’ve got an Uncle Irving too,” she added suddenly, she made a fist in front of her mouth and pulled it away, making a loud popping noise with her mouth as she did so while wiggling her fingers “bubala!” she exclaimed with a grin_ _

__“Uncle Irving I take it?” I asked, chuckling_ _

__“Yeah, he used to do that whenever he visited when we were kids,” she explained “made us laugh every time” she chuckled as she leaned forward to read the screen “OK, Judge Anne Suzette,” she read “says here that she was born in 1954 at San Francisco General Hospital to Mathew and Margret Suzette, both of whom were members of the Board of Supervisors…uh, she graduated from Harvard Law in 1980 and went on to became a California District Attorney in 1986. In 1990 she was elected to judgeship” she summarized, I whistled_ _

__“1980, so that means that she was only twenty-six when she graduated law school, not bad,” I remarked, I shifted my position, leaning over to my left and reading over Calvin’s shoulder “what are her politics?” I asked quietly, almost whispering in her ear, if I couldn’t kiss her, I could at least have my fun_ _

__“Uh, well,” Calvin said, as she strolled through the file, clearly startled at my sudden proximity “uh, she seems to take a zero-tolerance policy towards crime, especially sex crimes and homicide, but also things like armed robbery” she explained_ _

__“How so?” I asked, still whispering_ _

__“Uh, well, like this,” she pointed to a line of text on the screen “in 2001, a twenty-three year old man who had been convicted of armed robbery of a convenience store where he accidentally shot the store clerk in the arm was up for sentencing in front of the Judge. Even though it was his first offense of any kind, she sentenced him to ten years for assault with a deadly weapon and attempted manslaughter”_ _

__“Yikes,” I exclaimed, leaning back and abandoning my fun for now “OK, so she’s no-nonsense, got it. Anything about her daughter?” Calvin scanned the text_ _

__“Uh, no, not really, just that Marie Suzette is her oldest, Marie apparently also has a sister, Julie, age sixteen”_ _

__“Huh,” I remarked, finishing my candy bar, I glanced up at the clock as I tossed the wrapper away “and where is the good judge now?”_ _

__“I think she’s in court” Calvin answered_ _

__“Right here in the building I take it?” I asked, Calvin snorted_ _

__“Where else?” she answered, I nodded to myself before hopping off of her desk and grabbing her tote bag and our coats, holding her stuff out to her; she took them, clearly confused_ _

__“Let’s go” I said, starting to walk away, as I shrugged my jacket on_ _

__“Let’s go where?” Calvin demanded “Raven?” she asked, jogging slightly in order to catch up with me “notification of next-of-kin?” she asked when she finally caught up. I sighed_ _

__“The part I hate the most” I answered grimly_ _

__****** _ _

__**San Francisco Hall of Justice  
Courtroom 23** _ _

__When Calvin and I quietly walked into Courtroom 23 and sat down Judge Suzette was just wrapping up the proceedings. Despite being fifty-four years old, Anne Suzette looked good for her age. Her blonde hair was only starting to lose its shine, becoming a duller brown streaked with grey, and her green eyes still held a fiery determination in them, this was a woman who would stand by her principles in thick or thin, a women who did not suffer fools lightly. With a sudden bang, she hit the gavel, making Calvin and I jump slightly._ _

__“Court dismissed” she ordered in a crisp voice. As the gallery emptied, Calvin and I moved forward towards the bench_ _

__“Judge Suzette?” I asked, she turned slightly towards us, as she did I could see that her file had failed to mention one detail._ _

__She was blind._ _

__“Yes?” she asked in a confident voice_ _

__“I’m Sgt. Wood, this is Lt. Eagle. We’re with the San Francisco Police” I continued, Judge Suzette held out a hand_ _

__“May I have your IDs please?” she requested, I passed her my badge, and she gently traced her fingers over it, then handed it back as Calvin passed her badge forward, where the Judge repeated the process. Apparently satisfied that we were legit, she handed Calvin’s back “now, how can I help you officers?” she asked, standing up and unfolding her cane. We followed her as she leisurely made her way towards her chambers, her cane swishing and clacking all the way_ _

__“You’re Marie Suzette’s mother, yes?” I asked_ _

__“That’s right,” Judge Suzette answered “is she in some kind of trouble, Officers?” she asked as we reached her chambers. She opened the door and walked inside with the two of us trailing behind her like ducklings. Quack, quack._ _

__Judge Suzette’s chambers were modest, several bookcases filled with legal books lined three of the four walls, and a desk with two chairs in front of it sat in the more or less center of the room. As Calvin and I sat down, Calvin asked_ _

__“Do you know where your daughter is, You Honor?”_ _

__“I’m afraid I don’t,” Judge Suzette answered, taking off her robes and hanging them up before sitting down behind her desk, moving with a practiced grace and ease, meaning that she was either born blind or had been blind for at least several years now “she just moved out to attend classes at UCSF,” she continued, she frowned, and her eyes narrowed “why do you ask?” she suddenly demanded in a quiet, even, and very scary voice that reminded me way too much of my mother, and not in a good way either. The Judge’s gaze seemed to pierce into us even though she was blind. Calvin and I briefly stared at each other, fidgeting, as we tried to see which one of us would break the tragic news._ _

__Finally I took the plunge_ _

__“At around seven this morning at the Hyatt-Regency,” I began, feeling my throat constrict slightly as the words squeezed out “an unidentified woman was found dead in the penthouse suite,” I swallowed and closed my eyes as I heard the Judge let out a tiny sob of disbelief. I didn’t want to see that “the register listed your daughter as the occupant of the room” I continued, opening my eyes as I finished_ _

__I couldn’t have done worse than if I’d shot the poor woman in the heart at point-blank range. Judge Suzette simply sat there, still as a statue for a few minutes, before she finally spoke_ _

__“Wha-what?” she asked in a choked voice_ _

__“But,” Calvin began quietly, looking just as ill as I felt “because of…,” she paused “…extenuating circumstances, partly because the register listed two women occupying the room, we need your help identifying the body” she explained ‘Yeah,’ I thought darkly ‘extenuating circumstances’ like the fact that our victim is missing a face’. Judge Suzette stilled once more_ _

__“So, you’re saying that there’s a chance that…?” she began_ _

__“Your Honor,” I began, I reached across the desk and took her hand “Miss. Suzette,” I corrected myself “the woman we found does match you daughter’s age, height and weight…” I took a breath “I don’t want to give you any false hope” I told her softly, she nodded shakily and lightly squeezed my hand in acknowledgment before removing her own_ _

__“I understand,” she said, sounding a little more composed “I’ll have someone come down to the morgue and identify…” she paused and swallowed hard “…the body” she finished difficultly_ _

__“I’m afraid that won’t help,” I told her softly, at her startled expression I explained as diplomatically and delicately as I could “the…crime was…brutal, the damage…extreme, I’m afraid we’ll need a DNA sample from you for…comparison” I was close to tears myself by this point. Judge Suzette looked like she was about to faint by now_ _

__“Of course,” she said after a moment “I’ll help in any way I can, I’ll head down to the crime lab later this afternoon”_ _

__“Thank you,” I said softly, I glanced down at the desk, spotting a picture frame, curious, I lightly reached out and picked it up. It was a picture of a smiling young women with long brown hair and a round, cheerful face and laughing green eyes “this picture on your desk, is this Marie?” I asked_ _

__“The silver frame?” Judge Suzette asked_ _

__“Yes” I answered, she nodded_ _

__“Yes, that’s Marie,” she answered “beautiful isn’t she?” she asked in a far away tone, no doubt envisioning happier times_ _

__“Yes,” I agreed softly, god, this girl couldn’t have much older than me “could I keep this for the time being?” I asked “for identification purposes” I added quickly_ _

__“Yes” Judge Suzette answered, seeming to capable of one-word answers at the moment, I didn’t blame her_ _

__“Your Honor,” Calvin began as I quietly slid the photo out of the frame and pocketed it “can think of anyone who would want to hurt your daughter?” Calvin continued_ _

__“No, no one,” Judge Suzette answered “everyone loves Marie”_ _

__“Does she have any close friends?” I asked “maybe people she’d feel more willing to tell things that she feels she couldn’t tell you? A boyfriend, girlfriend maybe?”_ _

__“No, not that I can think of,” Judge Suzette answered, she frowned for a moment “now wait,” she said suddenly “she does have an old friend from high school, Margret…Margret…Anders, yes, Margret Anders, that was it”_ _

__“Do you know how we can get in touch with Margret?” Calvin asked_ _

__“Last I heard she was working for the Eden Foundation” Judge Suzette answered, I looked up, surprised_ _

__“The _Eden_ Foundation?” I asked_ _

__“Yes, here, at the Garden” Judge Suzette answered, I nodded and jotted it down on my notepad, keeping my surprise to myself, only the best and brightest are hired by the Foundation after all_ _

__“All right,” I said softly “thank you, I think that’ll be all for now” I stood up, Calvin following suit_ _

__“Sgt. Wood?” the judge called out as I opened the door, I turned_ _

__“Yes?” I asked, as Anne Suzette stared at me with a burning intensity in her eyes, even though she probably couldn’t see me at all_ _

__“Please,” she begged, voice barely above a whisper “please, find out if this is my daughter, please find out who…who would do this”_ _

__“I will” I promised._ _

__****** _ _

__I glanced at Calvin as we quietly slipped out of Judge Suzette’s chambers. She leaned against the wall looking tired and drained_ _

__“Damn” she muttered_ _

__“Ditto,” I answered, I took the photo of Marie Suzette our of my pocket and stared at it “Jesus,” I swore “this girl can’t be much older than I am” I remarked_ _

__“I know,” Calvin agreed, staring at the photo “and you’re only twenty-four” she pointed out_ _

__“Yeah,” I answered grimly, I turned to her and flashed a sarcastic smile_ _

__“Ain’t life grand?” I spat_ _


	4. Birds in the Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Yes, "Quoth The Raven" is finally being updated! Please enjoy :=)

******

**The Garden, Building A, Eden Plaza, 2938 Market Street, Financial District**

‘The Garden’, capital ‘G’, headquarters of the ‘Eden Foundation’, an international, non-profit, scientific think-tank based right here in San Francisco. They started in 1820 as the ‘Blume Institute’ a private scientific institute, until it burned to ground in 1830, the next year, the Institute’s founder Dr. Allison ‘Eve’ Eden (who, as a female doctor, was something of a rarity at that time) simply started again, rebuilding on the basic idea of the Institute: a non-profit foundation whose goal was ‘building a better future’, but with bigger goals.

So far, the Foundation seems to be doing OK, they’re still here after all, one hundred and seventy-seven years later, and if anything, they’re better now than they were then. For one thing, they’re the one’s who are almost solely responsible for almost all of the technological advancements made worldwide in the last fifty years; they even helped NASA build the technology that made the Apollo 11 Moon Landing possible and the Space Shuttle too, not to mention the Mars Missions.

I gently maneuvered the Tumbler into a parking spot in the crowed parking lot, winning a spot right in front of the main building mostly by virtue of having the larger vehicle and the more suicidal driving attitude. Something which Calvin clearly did _not_ appreciate.

“I hate you” she told me matter-of-factly, glowering at me as I turned off the engine

“You can always walk” I reminded her as I hopped down from the cab

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, clearly not threatened in the slightest as she climbed down herself and gave Bob a pet on the head through the open rear window as she passed around the back of the Tumbler to join me. She glanced up at the building towering up in front of us, a sturdy, multi-story brick skyscraper sitting on the corner “you ever been here before?” she asked

“A couple of times,” I answered “you?”

“Never,” she answered, shaking her head “read about it though, heard about it,” she explained with a shrug “then again,” she added with a slight laugh “what person in the Bay Area _hasn’t_ heard of the Eden Foundation? I mean, they make and own like…everything”

“Yeah,” I agreed, readjusting my sunglasses “they currently own over sixty percent of the business real estate in the Bay Area and employ over ninety percent of the Bay Area’s total population, they’re practically a monopoly,” I explained “I mean, many San Franciscans, like me, just call them ‘Eden’ or ‘the Foundation’,” I added “but the really cool thing is that they’re almost entirely non-profit, almost nothing,” I waved my hand to make my point “…from the sale of their products goes back to them except to pay their employees and maintain their property” I explained

“You wouldn’t know it by looking at this place” Calvin remarked, looking around, I nodded silently. The Garden was actually just the main building of a much larger complex called ‘Eden Plaza’, which is about two city blocks long and one block wide, its open to the public and holds all the labs that the Foundation needed to do its work—which ranged from advanced pharmaceutical and biomedical research, to artificial intelligence and cybernetics, and even the entertainment industry—as well as serving as a place for the Foundations employees and your average Joe to relax. It’s very nice, actually, lots of grass and trees, a few fountains even, and some very artful looking elevated walkways running between the various buildings, in fact, it looks more like a very small university campus rather than the headquarters of one of the premiere, if not the premiere, scientific R&D groups on the planet.

“Well, c’mon, Kitten,” I said finally, giving her a pat on the back as we started walking “time to quit gawking and get to work” I continued. The main lobby of the Garden was designed to be as light and airy as possible, and looked almost like a museum or art gallery. At least half of the ceiling was basically one large skylight, letting in lots of sunlight, part of the walls on either side of the lobby were floor-to-ceiling windows, and the other walls were colored a kind of off-white/soft cream color that looked kind of like stucco, as was the floor, making the whole room feel very warm and inviting, like I said, more like an art gallery or a museum than a lobby. The main desk was off to the right rather than right in the middle of the room, a large sign hanging above the desk read ‘information & assistance’.

As Calvin and I walked up the main desk, the receptionist—a middle-aged woman with graying hair—gave us a pleasant and sincere smile

“Hello, and welcome to the Eden Foundation. How can I help you?” she greeted us

“Hello,” I replied, I held up my badge “I’m Sgt. Wood, this is Lt. Eagle, San Francisco Police Department, we’d like to speak to a Margret Anders” I explained. If the receptionist was surprised or startled that the cops wanted to talk to Ms. Anders, she certainly didn’t show it

“One moment, let me check,” she answered, she turned and tapped at her keyboard for a few seconds “ah, yes,” she said after a minute, squinting at her computer monitor slightly “Dr. Margret Anders, she heads one of our genetics lab over in Project Hippocrates,” she turned back to face us “that’s right next door in Building B, third floor, Lab 21” she told us, I nodded

“OK, thank you” I told her

“Do you need directions?” she asked

“No thanks” I called out, as I walked past the desk, Calvin quietly following

“All right, you’re welcome” the receptionist called out one last time

“You’re sure you know the way?” Calvin asked

“Yep,” I answered “just follow the signs,” I told her, pointing towards a sign which read TO BUILDING B with an arrow pointing to the right. Following that particular sign led us back outside again onto one of the artful walkways I mentioned, which was designed to look like a wrought iron bridge covered in vines of ivy, as we walked, Calvin stopped and looked around. The elevation of the walkway was high enough that it gave us both a better view of the Plaza.

“Wow,” she said “this place is nice” she commented. And she was right, from our vantage point, I could see at least a dozen or so trees, oaks by the looks of them, lots of green grass and plants, with simple, elegant-looking pathways weaving in and around the entire Plaza, the sounds of cars and foot traffic whizzing by from the Financial District right outside the walls of the Plaza seemed to dim slightly, creating a tranquil setting, I could even hear a few birds here and there

“Pretty, isn’t it?” I asked, and for a few minutes, we simply stood there, enjoying the peace and quiet

“When was this place built?” Calvin asked, as she started walking again

“What, the Garden? Or the Plaza?” I asked, as I fell into a lazy, even pace with her, my arms idly crossed behind my back, the tail of my jacket fluttering behind me

“Both” she answered

“18…1840, I think,” I answered “it’s been expanded upon, obviously” I continued

“Obviously” Calvin agreed

“Actually, Eden Plaza was built after the 1906 earthquake in 1913, during the Panama-Pacific International Expo,” I explained “the Garden,” I jabbed my thumb behind me “was the only original Foundation structure to survive the quake, the rest of these buildings were added on later” I explained

“Where do you come _up_ with this stuff?” Calvin asked in an amazed and exasperated tone as we entered Building B, which was just as light and airy as the Garden

“What stuff?” I asked, confused, stopping to stare at her

“This…trivia,” she exclaimed “I swear, you’re like a walking Wikipedia, or something” she told me. I shrugged indifferently

“I dunno,” I mumbled in reply “I read a lot” I answered, Calvin ‘humph’ed’ indignantly as we headed for the elevators

“She said the third floor, right?” she asked, I nodded as she pressed the button for the elevator

“Yep, Lab 21” I replied as the elevator doors quietly slid open

“ _Elevator activated,_ ” a pleasant, female computer voice said as we stepped inside the elevator car. Calvin jumped. Technophobic Luddite “ _please state your destination_ ” the computer continued

“Yeah, third floor, Project Hippocrates, thanks” I told it, there was the obligatory chime as the doors closed and the elevator swiftly moved up the short distance to the third floor

“ _Third floor_ ” the elevator informed us as the doors slid open onto a warm and inviting corridor, which, like the lobby was decorated in that same off-white, cream, stucco color

“Thanks” I called out, more from habit than anything else

“ _You’re welcome, ma’am_ ” the elevator replied as the doors slid shut

“Well, that was creepy,” Calvin muttered “a talking elevator” I shrugged indifferently again

“Still, at least, it was a _polite_ elevator,” I remarked, Calvin stared at me for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and shaking her head, I chuckled “c’mon, we can find out where Lab 21 is from here” I nodded towards a large, flat-screen display set into the wall directly opposite the elevator with the word ‘information’ scrolling across it repeatedly. I lightly tapped it with my finger, the word ‘information’ vanished, being replaced with the Foundation’s symbol—two stylized isoclinic triangles side-by-side—over a black background.

“ _Hello,_ ” another pleasant computer voice, male this time, said from the screen “ _what would you like to know?_ ”

“Where is Project Hippocrates’ Lab 21?” I asked, in answer a map appeared on the screen, with the ‘You Are Here’ dot representing us, and another dot reading ‘Lab 21’ a few feet further down the corridor

“ _Lab 21 is down the corridor on you right, the fourth door on you left,_ ” the computer told us “ _well you be needing anything else today?_ ”

“No,” I told it and the screen returned to its original form. I nodded down the corridor “thata way, doc” I said, doing my best Bugs Bunny impression. Walking down the corridor, we passed lots of people in white lab coats, many carrying tablet PCs, or other, more unidentifiable, pieces of equipment.

Turning the corner, we found a door marked ‘Lab 21’ in neat black font. Pressing the button marked ‘PRESS FOR ADMITTANCE’ I waited for a few seconds before the door slid open. A woman with long dark blonde hair stood on the other side; she absently adjusted the large, oversized black glasses on her face as she studied us

“Yes?” she asked, clearly confused

“Margent Anders?” I asked

“Yes?”

Calvin and I held up our badges

“Lt. Eagle and Sgt. Wood, SFPD,” I introduced us “we’d like to speak to you about Marie Suzette”

“I’m busy right now” she said, moving to close the door. I shoved an arm out, blocking the door from closing

“We have reason to believe that she’s dead,” I said, not bothering with niceties “murdered, actually” I added. She paused, her expression never changing as she studied us some more

“Come inside,” she finally said. Inside the lab the room was large and airy, with lots of light. People in white coats buzzed around, peering into microscopes, studying beakers filled with colored liquids and the like.

“I haven’t seen Marie in months,” Margret Anders spoke up as Calvin and I hurried after her “we don’t talk much anymore” she explained

“What did you talk about the last time?” Calvin asked

“I don’t remember”

“Of course not,” I muttered to myself “did she seem upset or worried when you last spoke?” I asked

“I don’t remember”

“Well, what _can_ you remember?” I wondered. Margret finally turned to look at us

“Like I said,” she began “Marie and I don’t talk much anymore. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do”

With that little parting shot, she turned around and disappeared into the depths of the lab

******

“Well, she’s lying, that’s for sure” Calvin declared as we left the building and climbed back into the Tumbler

“Yep,” I agreed as buckled up. Catching something out of the corner of my eye, I looked up, spotting Margret Anders swiftly leaving the building “hey, look at that” I pointed

“Well, well,” Calvin smirked “somebody’s in a hurry” she noted. I nodded as I started the engine

“Let’s follow her” I nodded

******

Margret led us all over the Financial District, hopping onto a cable car at least twice (it may have even been the same cable car) before she finally ducked into a coffee shop. Finding parking a few blocks down, Calvin and I quickly followed her in, settling down at a corner table which had a direct line-of-sight to Margret’s table

“So far so good,” Calvin muttered as she sat down, her back to Margret’s table, as another woman—a pretty young Asian woman—came over and pulled Margret into a lip lock “what?” Calvin asked

“Meeting a girlfriend” I explained. Calvin frowned, and then dug through her tote bag, pulling out a bunch of pens, some receipts, and—you’ll think I’m joking here, but I swear I’m not—a rubber duck, before finally pulling out a compact and opening it, pretending to fix her hair as she examined the table behind her

“Wow,” she muttered, blushing slightly “that’s…uh, some kiss,” she sighed “wish we could hear what they’re saying” she muttered

“Shh!” I hissed “the other woman’s name is ‘Suzie’,” I reported “and she’s worried about….what happened to Marie”

“How do you know that?” Calvin asked

“I can read lips,” I explained hurriedly “an ex-girlfriend taught me”

“Why would she teach you to read lips?”

“The deaf find it useful,” I explained as I stared at the other table “OK, now Suzie’s wondering if ‘Sammy knows about what happened’ and Margret’s saying—” I snarled in frustration as a waiter suddenly came to their table, blocking my view “damn it!” by the time the waiter _finally_ moved, both woman were getting up and leaving “we’re on the move, Kitten!” I ordered as Calvin and I hurried to follow them outside, losing them in the crowd

“Damn!” Calvin muttered

“Well, we know where to find her at least,” I nodded as my cell suddenly buzzed. Pulling it out, I found a text from Eddie on the screen “text from Eddie,” I reported “Marie Suzette’s address”

“Let’s go” Calvin nodded…

******

**Apartment of Marie Suzette**

Marie Suzette had moved out of her parent’s home into a very nice, upscale apartment building. It was very fancy, even had a doorman, who protested vehemently as we flashed our badges and demanded to be allowed in to Marie Suzette’s apartment

“Look,” I groaned “we are investigating the possible _murder_ of one of your residents!” I called out loudly. Other people in the lobby gasped and started muttering between themselves, some already declaring that they would be moving out immediately

“All right, all right!” the doorman hissed, looking around frantically “just…keep quiet” he pleaded as he hand me a key and gestured to the elevators

“That was…pretty good” Calvin remarked as we got into the elevator

“I try” I nodded as the doors closed…

******

Exiting the elevator near—but not _at_ —the penthouse suite (Marie’s family wasn’t _that_ rich). Finding the right apartment, I knocked once

“San Francisco Police” I called out. When no one answered, I took the key and unlocked the door

“Wow, ritzy” Calvin muttered as we stepped inside of the large loft space. The apartment was one of those open floor plan ones, a large living room seamlessly blended into a full-sized kitchen to our left, while what I presumed was the bedroom was in the loft above the living area

“All right,” I muttered as I slipped on a pair of latex gloves “let’s see what we can see”

“I’ll take the bedroom” Calvin announced as she climbed the stairs. I had just opened a cabinet when Calvin suddenly yelled for me. Turning, I sprinted up the stairs, nearly bumping into Calvin. Leaning past her, I stared for a few seconds, not quite sure what I was seeing.

A woman lay on the bed, tied spread-eagle to it, nude, a bright red ballgag was stuffed into her mouth. She lifted her head as she saw us, weakly thrashing and whimpering

“Untie me!” she pleaded through the gag

“Call an ambulance!” I ordered as I rushed over to the bed, pulling a knife from my pocket and cutting the ropes binding the woman to the bed “we’re police officers,” I explained as she surged upright once her arms were free. Mumbling and whimpering she frantically pawed at the ballgag as Calvin quickly freed her feet and ankles “OK, OK, just hold on,” I urged as I studied the ballgag, finding that it was locked with a tiny padlock “do you know where the key is?” I asked. She shook her head “OK, I’m going to try and cut this off you, all right?” she nodded “just hold still” taking a breath, I edged the flat of the knife’s blade between the strap and her skin, slowly sawing away. It took some doing but, finally the ballgag came lose.

Panting, she quickly worked it out of her mouth, gasping for air as soon at it was out

“Ambulance is on the way,” Calvin reported as she hurried down the stairs and came back a few seconds later with a bottle of water, which she handed to the woman, who snatched it from her, messily guzzling down half of in an instant “can you tell us your name?” Calvin asked as the woman panted for breath

“S-s-sammy,” she slurred out, clearly dehydrated “Sammy Derek” she panted for breath and took another, slower, drink of water

“How long were you tied up like that?” I asked

“Last night,” she panted out “I got scared when Marie didn’t come back home”

“You’re her girlfriend?” I asked. She nodded “and she _left you tied up like that_?” I demanded, appalled

“Some, sometimes she goes out for a few minutes” Sammy defended. I was about launch into a lecture about safe, sane, and consensual when the wail of an ambulance siren filled the air…


End file.
